


big hands, i know you’re the one

by tempestbreak



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Lance (Voltron), Coming In Pants, Dirty Talk, First Time, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Jealousy, Light Verbal Humiliation, M/M, Male Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Mirror Sex, Miscommunication, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Slut Shaming, Top Hunk (Voltron), Underage Drinking, and lance is super into all of it, lance is also horny for keith and shiro but nothing happens with them, strangely well-read lance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:54:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28302654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tempestbreak/pseuds/tempestbreak
Summary: Because it would be a lie to say that he’s never thought about it. Hunk’s presence is so comforting; he justgetsLance, the way no one else ever has. And Lance gets Hunk right back. He’s never even gotten tired of Hunk, and they spend nearly every hour of every day together.So of course he’s thought about it. Of course he’s thought about how it would be if he and Hunk were in love. If they were together. If somehow this perfect friendship could metamorphose into an equally perfect relationship.Or even just a friends-with-benefits-ship. Like he said: Daddy horny.--Or: Lance has some very specific, very sex-related goals. His best friend Hunk supports him.
Relationships: Hunk/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 105





	big hands, i know you’re the one

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scorpio_pit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpio_pit/gifts).



> thanks to @scorpio_pit for requesting this fic! i never would have written hance on my own and now i love them.
> 
> fysa: hance are of age in this but still at the garrison.

The party don’t start ’til they walk in.

Lance and Hunk, that is.

And the party has technically already started. 

What, is Lance supposed to arrive at a party _early_ and miss making an entrance? Not on your life!

The house is unfamiliar. It belongs to some girl's parents who live locally but are out of town for the weekend. Lance has never heard of her, an upperclassman engineer, but Hunk knew her and when he mentioned it, Lance could tell his instant, almost rabid excitement about the prospect of unsupervised partying took Hunk aback.

But can you really blame Lance? He’s been keyed up all semester! Over the summer, he finally learned what it was like to not be the single, solitary cause of his own orgasm, a.k.a., he got an over-the-pants hand job—an OPHJ, © Lance McClain, thank you very much—from a girl who worked at the same summer camp where Lance was a counselor. And, sure, it was dry, and rough, and his dick kind of hurt afterwards, but _still_! Someone else touched his dick! Lance was over the moon.

But that was _it_. 

Nothing since then! A tragedy, right? Shakespearean, almost. Sophoclean, practically! 

(Yes, Lance knows who Sophocles is, kind of. Just one more reason someone should wanna touch his dick.)

So tonight, Lance wants to get lucky. Hence the outfit. 

He convinced Hunk to do a couple’s costume for the third year in a row, and this one tops all their others by a mile. Of course, previous years’ outfits were not chosen specifically for their thirst trap potential, but that’s neither here nor there. 

The point is, Lance makes a bangin’ Princess Jasmine.

The gauzy blue harem pants scratch at his legs, and frankly the bra kinda chafes his nips, not to mention that the headband keeps trying to slip off his hair, since he didn’t want to be stuck wearing the wig the whole night and so it’s a little too big. Also, it’s Halloween, so it’s not exactly _warm_ outside, though that’s mostly solved by the body heat of four dozen horny, drunk teenagers. Of whom Lance is almost certainly in the top five horniest.

“ _God_ , I need to get laid,” Lance mutters into his red Solo cup, the contents of which smell vaguely like battery acid.

Beside him, Hunk perks up, looking around them. “What?” he asks, swiveling his head, the little Aladdin fez bobby-pinned to his hair flopping wildly. “What, what did you say? Is someone doing something gross already? Oh my god, are the cops coming? The cops are coming, aren’t they. I knew this was a bad idea—” 

“Hunk, buddy,” Lance says, settling a hand on Hunk’s be-vested shoulder. He fixes Hunk with his coolest, most laid-back smile, while Hunk looks back at him skeptically. “Chill, all right? Enjoy the drink I mixed up for you. _Savor_ it.” 

He flicks his eyes down to the clearly untouched drink clutched in Hunk’s hand and is struck abruptly by the sheer _size_ of it. His gaze blurs a little as he compares it to his own slim-fingered grip. Hunk makes the Solo cup look like a Dixie. 

_Big hands,_ Lance’s lizard brain provides, zeroing in on the thickness of Hunk’s knuckles. _You know what they say about big hands._

Lance knows. He’s said it about a hundred times since he arrived at the Garrison, since he has long fingers. 

Uhh, and a nice dick, don’t get him wrong! He can back it up! The big hands thing. He thinks, anyway. He’s seen porn, and it’s— if they lined up all the dicks like at the state fair produce competition or something, his could ribbon, _for sure._

But if his is a cucumber, Hunk’s must be a fucking butternut squash.

“I dunno, Lance, it’s kinda—” Hunk takes a tentative sip. Instantly, his eyes begin to water, and then he’s coughing and Lance is patting him on the back—the big, big back—as he sputters. Some cute girls nearby give them a horrified look before they push off the wall to mingle elsewhere and dammit, they were totally giving him the eye before that!

“It’s supposed to be strong, dude!” Lance says. “Efficiency. You’re all about that, right?”

Hunk gives him a look around his pinched face, eyes tearing.

“That’s the spirit,” Lance says encouragingly, and returns to scanning the room. He doesn’t have anyone particular in mind, really, he’s just trying to see if anyone else is scanning the room, too. And if his eyes catch occasionally on thick black hair or fingerless gloves hugging a cup, well, it’s because if _he_ showed up to a party, it would definitely mean the world was ending, and Lance would be fully justified storming up and giving him a piece of his mind.

“I bet he won’t even dress up,” Lance grumbles to no one in particular. “Bet he thinks he’s too good to dress up.”

“Who?” Hunk sputters around another sip of his drink. 

“Keith!” Lance spits the name like it’s cursed, because it kind of is. Any time Keith shows up, things go sideways for Lance. It’s not _his_ fault that Keith has also featured semi-prominently in Lance’s recent frustration-fueled wet dreams and so now he’s wondering if the real Keith also has a nearly absent gag reflex.

Squinting down at his cup, Hunk screws up his mouth. “Oh, is that why you wanted to be Princess Jasmine so bad? So Keith would—”

“No!” Lance exclaims, shaking his head vehemently. Hunk _cannot_ finish that thought out loud. “No, no-no-no, _no_ , this is absolutely _not_ because of Keith. We are just here to get me laid, and I look great in this outfit, all right? You said I looked great in it!”

“You do,” Hunk agrees amiably.

“Well, then, ergo, ipso facto—”

“Although, you do have a little—” Abruptly, Hunk leans in close to Lance’s face, his eyes searching, probing. 

Lance leans away instinctively, heat creeping up his neck. “Whoa-whoa-whoa, buddy, what—”

“Your eyeliner,” Hunk says, lifting one of those enormous hands to brush a thick fingertip beside Lance’s right eye. “It’s smudged on your eyelid.”

Even just the soft touch against his cheek, the closeness of Hunk’s face to his, makes Lance’s heart flutter. Fuck, he needs to get laid _yesterday_.

Smudged eyeliner isn’t gonna help with that.

“Ugh, come on.” He snags Hunk around the meaty forearm and begins dragging him through the crowd. “Gotta find a bathroom.”

Every bathroom is occupied, it turns out. It is a party, after all; drunk people gotta piss. So instead they find a bedroom with a mirror vanity. Lance stomps over to it immediately, already reaching an arm around his back like a monkey to fumble at the stupidly itchy strap of the bra. The cheap, plasticky fabric is driving him fucking _nuts._

When he gets a good look at himself in the mirror, Lance groans, stamping his foot. “Dammit, I _knew_ this would happen!” he moans, scrunching up his nose. “It’s because my right eye is ever so slightly more heavily lidded than my left, Hunk. That’s why. It’s not because I’m sloppy with the liner.”

“I know, man.”

“If anyone asks, tell them it’s because of my eyelid asymmetry.”

“Want me to make an announcement?”

Lance snickers at that. “‘Attention, everybody, just so you know, Lance is not _as_ big a mess as you thought he was, he’s just got wonky eyelids!’”

Hunk’s chortling, too. “‘His eyelids are two different sizes, he can’t help it! So if you bring up the smudge, _you’re_ the asshole.’”

“‘Also, if anyone’s down to smash, please, _please_ get at him!’” Giggling, Lance returns to the mirror. “Yeah, if you could do that, that’d be great.”

“I’ll get right on it,” Hunk returns dryly.

Lance’s focus goes back to his reflection. He licks a fingertip and starts to rub at the smeared black liner, frowning harder when his eyelid starts to redden. “Ugh, at this rate I’m gonna look even _worse_!” he groans, burying his face in his hands. “No one’s gonna want to fuck me, Hunk!”

“Aw, I’d fuck you, buddy.” Hunk’s tone is sympathetic.

Lance doesn’t lift his face. “Thanks, man,” he mutters. 

He gathers himself. He can do this. He can show his face—just as soon as he fixes it. 

With a sigh, he pushes himself back up to stare at himself in the mirror. He lifts his eyebrows, studying the offending eyelid. It’s mostly free of smudges now, so he holds out a hand to Hunk. “Eyeliner.”

Hunk slaps it into his hand like a surgeon’s assistant. It’s warm from Hunk’s pocket. Because of course the _men’s_ costume has pockets but the _women’s_ costume does not. Let it be known that Lance McClain stands with women in their quest for pockets!

As he uncaps the brush and pulls it to his face, he muses, “You think girls would wanna have sex with me if I commiserated with them about their pocket shortage?” 

“Oh, no _question_ ,” Hunk says, cutting his hand through the air decisively. “If I was a girl, I would throw myself at you, dude.”

And Lance knows Hunk’s just saying it to be nice and supportive, like always, but still it makes him feel better. Smiling gratefully, he begins painstakingly to trace his lash line in the mirror.

Hunk allows him to work in quiet for a few long moments, the heavy bass from the living room streaming through the door, left ajar. Out of the corner of his eye, Lance can see how Hunk begins to wander through the room, examining framed photos and stuffed animals. It looks like it probably was their schoolmate’s room, when she lived here full time instead of at the Garrison. Or else maybe she has a little sister.

Oh, hey, in that case, maybe there’s some makeup remover—

“So… you’re really that desperate to hook up with someone?”

Hunk’s tone is surprisingly serious, almost judgmental. It makes Lance blink in surprise, which smears the still-wet liner across his stupid right eyelid. Whining, he has to dampen his fingertip with his tongue again and wipe at it until it clears away. God, it’d be great if there was makeup remover in this room. Even baby oil...

“Uhh, I wouldn’t say _desperate_ ,” Lance grumbles, thinking. “More like… available.”

“Extremely available.”

“Yes.” Lance gestures obviously to his bare midriff, his bare shoulders, his see-through harem pants that make it clear he’s wearing aquamarine panty bottoms beneath them. “I mean, clearly.”

“Is that why you were talking about Keith?”

Again with the tone! Like Hunk is… _disappointed_ in him or some shit. So what if Lance is desper— err… _extremely available_? He’s allowed! He’s allowed to flaunt his midriff and complain about Keith not even fucking showing up to the party of the year to see it because of course he fucking didn’t.

“I can neither confirm nor deny that,” Lance answers airily, which makes Hunk chuckle quietly where he’s leaning against the dresser with his arms crossed. He caps the eyeliner, waving a hand at his face so it’ll dry faster.

“So you’re saying if Keith was in this room right now instead of me, you’d be doing the same thing you’re doing now?” Hunk continues, eyebrow raised. “You wouldn’t be on your knees already?”

“Du-ude!” Lance laughs incredulously, his brows lifting as he meets Hunk’s amused gaze in the mirror. Something glitters in it—something laughing yet exasperated, almost frustrated—just for a second before it disappears again. 

“I’m _just saying_ ,” Hunk laughs, lifting his hands in a defensive shrug. “Based on what you’re saying, it _sounds like_ you kinda sorta maybe wanna suck Keith’s dick.”

Lance’s shoulders hunch up by his ears, his jaw dropping in shock. And okay, he’s not that shocked at the _idea_ , per se, but the fact that Hunk’s talking about it? His deffo-straight roommate-slash-best-friend with the enormous hands, talking about Lance sucking dick? Is he dreaming?

“You know I’m not opposed to close encounters of the dick kind,” is what he settles on.

“No, I know,” Hunk says, his posture almost mirroring Lance’s, slightly defensive. “And you know I’m not opposed to you... being not opposed to it. I guess I’m just confused about why Keith of all people has taken up so much of our conversational bandwidth lately.”

Lance purses his lips. He knows he can talk to Hunk about _anything_ , but… Keith’s his rival! It’s not just about him being hot; Lance also _hates_ the guy. It’s way harder to admit that Lance would absolutely not be opposed to tapping that when ninety percent of the Keith-related conversational bandwidth Hunk mentioned is taken up with Lance complaining about the dude.

“I dunno, man,” Lance sighs, grimacing into the mirror. “I guess maybe I thought if he was here, and he saw me looking hot, I could… _goad_ him into fucking me? I don’t know. I really just… want to get it _over_ with, get _some_ kind of action. I haven’t gotten any since that OPHJ over the summer.”

“Lance, I’m beggin’ ya, buddy,” Hunk tells him, shaking his head fondly. “You gotta stop abbreviating specific sex acts. No one calls an ‘over-the-pants hand job’ an OPHJ. You’re just gonna freak the girls out.”

“Yeah, but _you_ know what I’m talking about!” Lance insists. “That’s all that matters.”

“Is it?” Hunk murmurs under his breath, nudging a picture frame back into place.

But Lance is too revved up to focus on Hunk’s quiet asides. “I’m serious,” he whines. “I just— want— _something!_ Some kind of touch! Below-the-belt touch tonight, okay? I’m not picky! I’ll take it where I can get it. I’d even take it from you!”

Instantly, Lance clenches his eyes shut. That’s not at all how he wanted the words to come out, but come out they did. 

Hunk’s tone is flat, annoyed, as he deadpans, “Wow, Lance, thank you _sooo_ much. Even from me, huh? Last resort?”

“No! No, no-no-no! Not at— that’s— that’s not what I—” Lance groans, dragging a hand down his face. “You see what I mean!? I can’t even _think_ right anymore.” He pouts hard in the mirror to Hunk. “Daddy horny, Hunky.”

It has the desired effect. A smile breaks out, Hunk’s shoulders bouncing with laughter. “All right, you get out of that one for the very good _Arrested Development_ reference, but next time you insult me…”

“I didn’t mean it like an insult!” Lance bursts in. “You’re hot as fuck, dude. Like, break-me-in-half hot! I’m just— it’s because we’re friends. Best friends! And it could get… weird…”

He trails off, biting his lip as his eyes list away. Because it would be a lie to say that he’s never thought about it. Hunk’s presence is so comforting; he just _gets_ Lance, the way no one else ever has. And Lance gets Hunk right back. They’ve spent countless hours bingeing old TV shows, testing whether those bake-in-a-mug microwave cakes really work (they do if Hunk makes them, but not if Lance does), and just generally… _existing_ together. Lance has never felt so content around someone else so consistently. He’s never even gotten tired of Hunk, and they spend nearly every hour of every day together.

So of _course_ he’s thought about it. Of course he’s thought about how it would be if he and Hunk were in love. If they were together. If somehow this perfect friendship could metamorphose into an equally perfect relationship.

Or even just a friends-with-benefits-ship. Like he said: Daddy horny.

Anyway, Hunk seems appeased by Lance’s explanation. He presses his lips together in the middle, but they quirk up at the sides in an expression that tells Lance he’s flattered, perhaps a little bashful. Lance shoots him a sly smile in the mirror before he returns to checking his makeup. Now that the right one is dry and touched up, the left one looks pretty lackluster in comparison. He sighs and uncaps the liner again.

“Oh, hey,” he calls over his shoulder, “could you check my bra? It’s really itchy in the back and I can’t reach it.”

“Sure,” Hunk says, sidling up behind Lance. In a moment, a warm hand brushes over his bare spine; he shivers, can feel goosebumps pimpling across his skin. “Sorry,” Hunk murmurs.

“’Sfine,” Lance says. “I’m mostly grateful I didn’t stab myself in the eye with the brush. You know how fucking much that hurts, dude?”

“I know how much it hurts to have _you_ stab me in the eye with a brush, if you recall last Halloween…”

“Oh. Right.” Lance hunches sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“No worries.”

One thick fingertip runs under the flimsy elastic of the bra, and Lance sighs, slumping a little with relief. It’s honestly heaven to have the fabric pulled away from his skin; it’s been seriously itching.

“I don’t see anything,” Hunk says. In the mirror, Lance can see that he’s peering down, one eye closed. 

“It’s probably just this cheap-ass fabric,” Lance grumbles.

“You should’ve just gone shirtless,” Hunk says.

“I couldn’t do that! Could you imagine the scandal if Princess Jasmine went shirtless through the streets of Agarabah?”

“Agrabah.”

“Yeah, Agarabah.”

“No, it’s Agrabah. You’re saying _Agarabah_.”

Lance scowls at Hunk’s reflection. “Well, what would you know, street rat? _Yowch!_ ” He can’t help the exclamation when Hunk lets the bra elastic snap back against his skin. He glares as Hunk lets out a pleased guffaw. “I’m _never_ getting on your magic carpet, mark my words!”

“Yeah, yeah.” That big hand pats his upper back placatingly three times— _one, two, three…_ and then it… lingers… 

Just a little. Just enough to be noticeable, before Hunk pulls it away. Hunk himself does not step aside, however; he remains a hot, overwhelming presence at Lance’s back. Like this, it’s heart-poundingly obvious how Hunk could completely engulf him, how much broader his shoulders are than Lance’s, how much thicker his limbs…

Lance ignores how it makes his pulse leap. He is… _so_ fucking wound up, he could seriously get a half-chub just from Hunk _standing near him_? Christ.

Hunk clears his throat. “Anything else you need?”

Waggling his eyebrows, Lance puts on a lascivious grin. “Oh, you know what I need.”

Hunk’s expression goes similarly amorous. “Yeah, baby?” he says, all breathy, his big lips pouted as he presses even closer against Lance’s back, warm and enormous. He trails the backs of his knuckles along Lance's shoulder and down his arm. “Why don’t you tell Papa what he can do for you?”

Lance has to clamp his teeth down on his lip to stop himself from bursting into giggles. This is one of their inside jokes, this kind of overly affected flirtation. They make kissy faces at each other over lunch sometimes and try to see how fast they can get Pidge to leave in disgust. And Lance doesn’t shy away; he can give as good as he gets! Just because he’s responding to it _physically_ a bit more than usual doesn’t mean he can’t commit to the bit!

So he pouts hard as he hunches his shoulders forward exaggeratedly, trying to fold his chest in on itself hard enough to create some semblance of cleavage. “Papa can get this itchy bwa off of my itty bitty tiddies,” he whines, hooking his index finger behind his bottom teeth as he swings his torso back and forth. “It’s sooo scwatchy.”

He can see in the glimmer of Hunk’s eyes how the laughter wants to spill from his lips. Hunk is so good at deadpanning these bits; so much better than Lance. This is how they weird out every other member of their class at the Garrison: Lance takes it too far; Hunk responds too seriously. By the time they’re dissolving into giggles, they’ve usually cleared the table.

“Hmm, you don’t say…” 

Hunk leans closer, a warm hand skating up Lance’s side to the bottom elastic of the bra. Lance tries not to let it show that his breath hitches at the touch; with his midriff bare, the touch is a bit more intimate than they’re used to, but not by a lot. Neither of them is stingy with the physical affection, so Lance just braces himself, focusing hard on not letting it show just how much the slightest touch can affect him right now. 

“Sounds like… you should’ve just gone shirtless.”

Lance pauses, his eyes snapping to Hunk’s in the mirror. Hunk’s reflection is shooting him a shit-eating grin. Lance glares back at him.

“Huunnnkkk…”

Hunk’s grin is undeterred. He pulls the elastic back and snaps it lightly again, musing, “Sounds like it would have saved your best friend a lot of time wasted having to listen to you complain about it.”

Lance scrunches up his face as far as it’ll go, crossing his arms. “ _Fine_ ,” he huffs. “Guess I’ll just have to find a _new_ best friend to listen to me complain.” An idea occurs to him, a dig and a joke wrapped up into one: “Maybe Keith’ll help me out of my scwatchy bwa.”

To his surprise, instead of just rolling his eyes and maybe giving Lance some well-deserved shit, one of those enormous hands closes over Lance’s hip. It’s warm, strong, a dry, calloused thumb brushing over the skin bared by the costume. Before he can stop himself, Lance hums, his eyelids fluttering shut.

In his ear, he can hear how Hunk’s breath hitches ever so slightly. “Seems like that felt good,” he murmurs. It’s not a question; it’s an observation. Lance can’t hide shit from Hunk. “You _are_ pretty keyed up, huh.”

“Toldja,” Lance returns, half-laughing. Hunk is going to step away any moment, but for now Lance can revel in the warmth of having someone so close. He’s truly starved right now; he’ll take what he can get, though he knows this won’t last.

So he’s caught off-guard when Hunk’s palm slides up his abdomen towards the cheap material of the bra. He can’t fight the gasp that draws in over his teeth when Hunk’s index finger skates accidentally over his right nipple, already sensitive from the scratchy fabric brushing against it all night.

“You said this was chafing.” Hunk’s voice is so low, right in his ear. 

Lance bites his lip and nods, then chokes as Hunk flicks his finger over the tight bud. Okay, so _not_ so accidentally. Is Hunk doing this on purpose? When he knows Lance is one stiff breeze away from coming in his underwear at any given moment? Confused heat courses through Lance’s body at the thought.

“That hurt?” Hunk’s tone is teasing. Lance knew it would be, knew this had to be some tease, an extension of their flirting game. But Lance is so hard up that all he can do in response is hum. He doesn’t know how to say _yes but keep going_. “Should I give you a titty twister, like we used to do?” And Hunk’s hand shifts to pinch Lance’s nipple between thumb and forefinger.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Lance bites out, his hand gripping the edge of the vanity.

Because let him say again: Fuck. Fuck _, fuck, fuck_, he’s turned on. He’s so sensitized that his cock is already more than half-erect, beginning to strain against the tiny blue panties that are in no way designed to hold a boner. 

This is gonna— fuck, if Hunk sees, he’s gonna think— 

“Oh my— Dude,” Lance half-laughs, his brain already reeling with need. “You’re gonna— have to stop if you… if you don’t want things to get weird.”

As if they aren’t already hurtling past weird.

But Hunk’s hand doesn’t fall away; if anything, it presses harder against Lance’s smarting nipple, sending heat shooting straight to Lance’s dick. “Is that so?” Hunk’s tone is sly. “This doing something for you?”

Color is creeping up Lance’s neck, burning into his cheeks and ears. God, how embarrassing. He’s getting hard just from his nipple being touched? Just from the way Hunk’s warm breath sends tingles over his skin? Just from how wrong it feels to be getting off on a joke, from how desperately he doesn’t want Hunk to stop?

“Y-yeah,” he stutters, choking on another gasp when Hunk splays his hand across Lance’s chest and— oh— oh _fuck_ he can reach both nipples at once, his thumb and middle finger both sliding and pressing over the swishy fabric. And it stings but somehow that’s only heightening it for him, the press of Hunk’s rough hand against his chest mirrored by the insistent press of his own cock against the cheap blue polyester panties, surely growing damp with precome.

He jumps when Hunk’s other hand lands on his stomach and slides lower, through the smooth skin of the happy trail he shaved for this stupid party. He complained _to Hunk_ about shaving it, for christ’s sake, about how he was going to have to live with the stubble for days, and now here he is, skating his palm over it.

“Mm,” Hunk hums, his thumb brushing his belly button, “close shave. Expecting to get some, huh? Practically begging for it, really...”

The hot flush in Lance’s face is practically scorching now. Because yeah, Hunk is right. He _is_ begging for it. He wants it. Wants _this_. Didn’t know he didn’t need to leave his dorm room to get it.

Oh, shit, the door.

The door to this room is still— Lance’s eyes flick to it in the reflection and sure enough it’s still partly open, so anyone walking past could see them. Would see Hunk’s broad back, would see Lance’s flushed face—

Then Hunk’s fingers dip lower, teasing at the waistband of Lance’s harem pants, and Lance can’t help the nervous giggle that bursts from his lips. His hand catches Hunk around the wrist and _fuck_ , he can barely get his fingers around it.

“H-h-hold up, buddy,” Lance breathes, his heart fluttering at the sheer size of Hunk against him. “I don’t know if you know what’s, uh— what’s gonna— if you—” He forces himself to stop. Swallow. Laugh, because if he keeps this a joke maybe it won’t freak out Hunk so much to find out _just_ how hard Lance’s dick is. “I-I’m sorta on a hair trigger, right now, if you know what I mean.”

Which is probably the least appealing way to phrase that. But… it’s _Hunk_. His best bud. They’ve talked about this shit ad nauseam over the years. Hell, Hunk was there when Lance tried to do No-Nut November and gave up about three days in because he creamed his briefs in the night and he figured God was telling him not to hide his light under a bushel. Hunk _knows_ just how easy Lance is. Knows what celebrities Lance thinks about to get off. Knows how Lance’s hottest, wildest, most droolingest dream sex scenario is a fivesome with him and four girls—one on his dick, one on his face, and one for each hand! Hunk knows him!

...But Hunk probably doesn’t wanna… _know_ him… right? He’s straight. He’s straight, isn’t he?

Yet Hunk doesn’t take his hands away, either of them. He chuckles warmly in Lance’s ear, his thumb running over the band of the pants. “You don’t say?” he murmurs, and hooks a thumb into the waistband, pulls it away, and lets it snap back.

Only it— it _doesn’t_ snap back.

Blushing hard, Lance looks down to find that his dick is so hard that it’s pulling the waistband away from his belly, the leaking head clearly visible as he peers down at it. “Sh-shit, sorry,” he gasps, embarrassment washing over him. He tries to bring his hand forward, to tug the waistband farther up, but Hunk catches his wrist, imitating Lance’s earlier hold on him only Hunk’s fingers easily encircle his bony arm.

“Why’re you apologizing?” Hunk’s voice is sincerely curious, but so close it’s sending shivers down Lance’s spine.

“Because!” Lance hisses. “Because you don’t— you’re not— It’s _embarrassing_!”

Hunk’s other hand is moving now, fingertips inching up the fabric of the bra to reveal one red nipple in the mirror. Lance’s gaze is drawn to how Hunk’s thick, square fingertips brush over it. He bites his lip, eyelids fluttering shut.

“You’re embarrassed? Embarrassed by… what?”

Oh _god_ , how could Hunk not know? Is it not painfully obvious? 

Or does he just… want Lance to say the words?

The idea zings boiling hot through his veins, setting him alight. Does Hunk… is he… feeling this, too…? 

“That…” Lance starts, his voice catching when a finger brushes over his stinging nipple. He licks his lips and tries again. “That I’m this desperate…” he admits in a whisper, the words igniting fire in his veins.

Hunk hums, seeming to consider this. “Don’t you mean _extremely available_?” he asks, hiking up the other half of the bra so both smarting nipples are bared. The cool air hits them both, spiking electricity through his spine. “Now,” Hunk purrs, his chest rumbling against Lance’s back, “imagine if you went back out like this. Bet you’d get some looks, huh? Maybe people would know just how available you are then.”

Lance swallows hard, trying not to pant when he returns, “But no one’s gonna fuck me if I already look like I’ve been fucked.”

Their eyes meet in the mirror. The look in Hunk’s tells Lance suddenly, clearly, just how much that idea appeals to him. To _both_ of them.

Hunk’s fingers slide into his panties and brush over his cock.

Lance _moans_ , eyes rolling back. His sound is cut off by Hunk’s other hand abruptly leaving his chest to fly to his mouth, smothering it with his hot, broad palm.

“Shh,” Hunk hisses in his ear, and oh god his other hand is still moving, still skimming over the straining length that must be seriously tenting his panties at this point. Lance moans again, muffled by Hunk’s hand, and Hunk’s arm around his shoulders tightens with a jerk. “ _Quiet_ ,” he insists, almost growling. “I know that’s not your strong suit, dude, but give it a try, all right?”

Lance cracks an eye open to meet Hunk’s in the mirror, still very aware of the open door mere feet away. Hunk’s practically engulfing Lance’s lithe body, both thick arms wrapped around him. His head reels with disbelief. This is happening? This is actually happening? And all he has to do is try to be quiet? 

Fuck, he’ll give anything a try if Hunk just keeps going…

Wordlessly, he nods, and Hunk’s grip slackens, just a bit, though his hand doesn’t leave Lance’s mouth. Honestly, Lance is good with that, even though he knows he’s not gonna make anymore noise. It’s driving him crazy to feel so at Hunk’s mercy. 

Then Hunk’s thumb brushes at the head of his cock, and Lance practically shouts against his palm.

The hand tightens again over his mouth and Lance nearly melts back against his broad chest, dissolving into smaller, broken whines as Hunk’s laughing breath cascades over his neck.

“What did I just say?” he chuckles.

Lance squeezes his eyes shut, almost embarrassed by how responsive he is. Fuck. Maybe it’s a good thing that Hunk’s the one seeing him like this and not some girl he’s trying to impress… or _Keith_ …

That thought shoots fire through his veins. The imagined humiliation of being this close to the edge with this little stimulation, in front of his rival? He could never come back from that… 

...so why does the idea make his cock fucking _throb_?

“Seems like you like that,” Hunk murmurs, nosing at the soft flesh behind Lance’s ear. A big hand wraps around his cock and gives it one strong stroke and Lance’s knees nearly buckle. “You like being teased in bed? Makes sense, you’re always the one doing the teasing in regular life. Talking a big game so people won’t know you’re like _this_?” 

He punctuates it with a flick of his wrist and Lance sucks in a shuddering breath, trembling against him as heat rapidly pools in his core. He sobs behind Hunk’s hand, desperate to come, so desperate…

“Are you close already?” Hunk asks, like he doesn’t already know the answer, like he can’t tell just how rock-hard Lance is in his fist as he pumps him slowly. 

Helplessly, Lance nods.

To his surprise, Hunk laughs in response. He _laughs_ against Lance’s neck, and it shoots sparks of embarrassment all down Lance’s spine, pinging electrically through his veins. “And you wanted to get laid tonight,” Hunk chuckles, shaking his head. “You really think you could’ve lasted, Lance? For anyone? When you’re this close to coming already just from having your best friend’s hand on you?”

Oh _god_ , those words… those words are making heat build so fast, so fucking fast. He’s writhing in Hunk’s arms, his moans coming out sharp and breathy against Hunk’s palm, his hips working in aborted motions to try to fuck his cock into Hunk’s thick fist.

Hunk’s voice is dark with excitement in his ear, against his neck. “You gonna come like this?”

Lance nods jerkily. He can hear his breath whistling in through his nose, half-blocked by Hunk’s hand, and it’s matched only by the frantic pounding of his heart, the throbbing of his cock in those tight panties, elastic digging into the flesh of his hips as it’s strained by the combined bulk of his dick and Hunk’s hand.

“Fuck, of course you are,” Hunk breathes. “Look at you, oh my god, Lance, _look_ at yourself…”

Lance cracks an eye open to meet his own gaze in the mirror and— _fuck_. His chest is rising and falling hard, flushed down to his belly button. His bra is still askew, revealing reddened, sensitive nipples, clearly pinched and played with, while Hunk’s thick arms hold him fast, dwarfing his entire slender body. The hand on his mouth practically smothers his face, calling attention to just how flushed his cheeks are, how glassy his eyes. All while Hunk’s other hand moves slowly, inexorably over his cock, stretching the wet and stained blue polyester of the panties. All while anyone could walk past and see it, too.

And all of that would be enough to get Lance there almost instantly, but then his eyes meet Hunk’s—sparkling, dark, and fucking ravenous where they’re gazing back at him—and then one of those rough, convulsive hip movements rocks his ass back against Hunk at _just_ the right angle that Lance feels the huge, unmistakable line of Hunk’s own cock, hard and full and clearly just as hungry as his, and Lance can’t hold on anymore. With a choked-out cry, he comes all over his ruined panties and Hunk’s enormous, pumping fist.

***

Okay.

O-okay!

So… what happened was… weird? It was weird, right? Like, not _objectively_ weird. It should be clear by now that Lance doesn’t judge who gets down with who or— or _what_ , depending—but… but he and Hunk don’t do… _that_.

Or at least, they never did before.

Their time at the party ended pretty quick after Lance jizzed all over his costume and Hunk’s hand. In awkward, hushed exchanges, they quickly cleaned up as much as possible and then retreated into the night, the mess that Lance made out of his panties clinging frigidly to his dick and balls beneath Hunk's (fortunately) long sweatshirt. His brain was working strangely afterwards, firing rapidly but with stupid thoughts that he kept to himself as they made their way back to the Garrison. Thoughts like, _Holy shit I came so hard,_ and, _I wish I’d taken a picture of my boner in these panties, that was fucking hot,_ and, _Wait a minute, should I have returned the favor?_

That last one didn’t occur to him until they were safely ensconced back in their room, and Lance was halfway to slumberland. Then his eyes flew open and he whipped his head over to Hunk, about to apologize or— or _something_ , because Lance McClain is not a selfish lover, ohhh no… but Hunk was curled up in his bed facing the wall, probably already snoozin’ away. So Lance relaxed back under his sheets and resigned himself to trying to get to sleep rather than staying up all night wondering if this was just a one-time thing.

And it’s fine! Happening once is totally fine. They can be chill about it. Chill, cool, and it’ll never happen again.

…

Okay, it wouldn’t be _so_ bad if it happened again, though, would it? Hunk is his best friend in the whole world, and he’s hot as hell, and— and Lance has been _dying_ for a fuck-buddy situation. Really, any kind of situation, if he’s being honest… but this is the best of all possible worlds, or whatever that old French guy said! He’s pretty sure he was talking about this exact situation, right? Hooking up with your hot best friend?

Now Lance just has to figure out how Hunk is feeling about it.

The next day Hunk is completely normal. They go to breakfast together, they go to class together, they study together. Nothing is amiss at all, although Lance can’t shake the feeling that Hunk is trying to avoid _touching_ him.

They don’t touch all the time, but like he said, neither of them is stingy with physical affection. So the fact that Hunk doesn’t pat him on the back or shoulder, doesn’t nudge him with an elbow, doesn’t even ruffle his hair, seems a little odd to Lance. It probably _wouldn’t_ seem weird if, y’know, Hunk hadn’t jerked him off over the weekend in some classmate’s (or classmate’s little sister’s) bedroom, but he did and so it’s weird. Those are the rules, according to Lance.

And Lance could probably just ask Hunk how he’s feeling about it, but the longer the week goes on without it being brought up explicitly, the more daunting the idea feels to Lance. So he just… doesn’t. And Hunk doesn’t. And they go back to normal.

Until lunch.

As usual, they’re sitting with Pidge, huddled over their trays of lukewarm, unimpressive cafeteria food. They’re recovering from yet another chewing-out by Iverson, who found Lance’s cargo piloting to be too flashy for his taste— _“This cadet thinks he’s the next Keith Kogane! Well, sorry to break it to you, McClain, but you’re not.”—_so when Lance catches sight of a familiar sullen face he can’t help the frustration that rises in his throat.

“Ugh, _Keith_ ,” he grumbles, glaring as the mullet himself walks through the cafeteria, sporting yet another brown-yellow bruise on his brow ridge. “Thinks he’s so great. Well, he’s _not_.”

“That’s not what you were saying at the party,” Hunk pipes up, his voice distorted around a bite of his sandwich, and—

—And okay, Lance blushes. It’s the first time either one of them has mentioned the party. And it’s the _last_ way he expected it to get brought up. Keith, of all things! Not how Hunk played with his nipples until his cock was hard and dripping...

“Oh, is that so?” Pidge asks slyly. “Did Lance finally admit he wants a piece of that?”

“N-no!” Lance sputters. “I mean, yes. I mean—!” He plants a palm on the cafeteria table and leans in to Pidge’s face, staring him down. “I _don’t_ ‘want a piece of that’ so I couldn’t _admit_ to wanting a piece of that, _okay_?”

Pidge is obviously unintimidated. Perhaps negatively intimidated, if possible. He chews slowly, staring impassively back at Lance through deadpan eyes.

“Well,” Lance says, sitting back into his seat, “now that that’s settled…”

But Keith chooses that moment to pass their table and Pidge bursts into laughter when Lance’s eyes just _flick_ to him—they barely even linger, he swears! Face burning, he begins to sputter in protest, which only makes Pidge laugh even _harder_ , and Lance’s shoulders are practically at his ears when he petulantly looks away from Pidge with a huff and his eyes skate over Hunk, who is—

—not laughing along.

Not laughing at all. In fact, he’s picking listlessly at his food, barely touching it now. It’s such an unusual sight that Lance sits up, his shoulders snapping away from his neck so quickly it’s like they’re on a rubber band. “Hunk…?”

With a clatter of silverware, Hunk stands from the table. “Gonna hit the bathroom before lunch is over,” he mutters, pulling up his food tray.

Lance frowns. “Buddy—”

“Huh?” Pidge asks, his laughter stopping abruptly as he shoves his glasses back up his nose.

“See you in class,” is all Hunk says as he beats a fast retreat from their table.

Lance and Pidge exchange looks of confusion for a brief moment. “What was that about?” Lance says, brows still furrowed.

“Nooo clue,” Pidge answers. “If _you_ don’t know what’s bothering Hunk, then _I’m_ certainly not gonna know.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Lance snaps, probably too defensively. Is that some kind of veiled reference to what happened over the weekend!? Pidge is _always_ making fun of him, and he always seems to know everything...

Pidge raises an eyebrow at him. “Uhh, you’re best friends? Duh?”

“Oh.” Lance settles back into his seat, fears assuaged. “Oh, right, yeah.” He chews his lip for just a moment before making up his mind. He tosses his silverware onto his tray, overturns his empty cup on it, as well, and stands. “I’m gonna go check on him.”

“I’m surprised it took you more than two seconds to decide that,” Pidge returns airily, already pulling a thick tome from his book bag.

After dropping his tray on the conveyor belt, Lance hurries out of the cafeteria, wading through crowds of younger students who barely come up to his chest on his new, post-growth-spurt string-bean body. (It’s all muscle! He’s a very buff bean, really!) He’s practically jogging by the time he makes it to the hallway, and then he’s catching sight of dark hair on a large, familiar frame disappearing into the boys’ bathroom.

“Hunk!” he calls, but the door is already closing. He makes it there in time to shove his hand in the way of the automatic sliding door, and has a fleeting moment of utter fear that it’s going to crush his fingers before it springs back and allows him to enter the bathroom. 

At a glance, he can see that one of the stalls is occupied, but not by Hunk, who is bowed over the sinks, splashing his face with water. He startles when Lance says his name once more, blinking through the droplets clinging to his thick lashes.

“Lance?” he mutters, frowning.

In a matter of moments, Lance is at his side, a hand on his broad shoulder. He’s struck by the fact that it’s the first they’ve touched since they… _touched_. His palm is vaguely tingly against Hunk’s warm uniform in a way that has never been the case before. He forces himself not to shrink away from the feeling.

“You all right, buddy?” he asks, voice low, though the boy in the stall almost certainly can hear them crystal clear.

Lance expects Hunk to look confused, to smile, to laugh and shake his head, tell Lance it’s nothing… but he doesn’t. Instead, his mouth presses into a thin line, his brown eyes skittering away from Lance’s in a way that makes Lance crane his head to chase the eye contact.

“...Buddy?” he prompts.

“‘Buddy’?” Hunk echoes. Abruptly, his eyes flick to Lance’s, and the look is unreadable. “Is that what we are, Lance? Are we buddies?”

Lance tosses his head, taken aback. “Uh, yeah?” he says, brow pinching. He tries to ignore how his heart races. “Of course, man. Best buddies.”

Hunk’s gaze holds his in its dark gravity. “Fuck buddies?” he asks.

The toilet flushing makes Lance nearly jump out of his skin. Whoever’s in that stall _cannot_ see them. Before he knows it, he’s tugging Hunk away from the line of sinks, into the accessible stall, where they can both fit. Despite Hunk’s uncharacteristic sullenness, he must not want to avoid talking to Lance altogether, because he allows himself to be pulled.

Once the latch is securely closed behind them, and Lance can hear that the other boy has left his stall and is washing his hands now, he whirls on Hunk. “Dude,” he hisses, “what are you _talking_ about?”

Crossing his arms, Hunk fixes Lance with another dour stare. “You know what I’m talking about,” he says, his voice hard. 

Lance’s heart sinks like a stone. So Hunk is upset about what happened. Not just upset—by his tone and body language, he’s fucking _pissed_. Shame washes frigidly over Lance’s whole body, sagging with contrition. “You’re right,” he sighs, shoulders slumping. “We should probably… yeah.”

“Yeah.” Hunk screws up his mouth in that way that makes Lance feel like he oughta scrunch up as small as he possibly can. He upset his _best friend_. He made his _best friend_ do something that made him uncomfortable. 

“Dude, I’m _so_ sorry about what—” he blurts out, at the same time that Hunk says, “I get you wanna pretend that it never happened, but—”

They stare at each other, brains catching up to the words the other has said. Almost in unison, their jaws drop. 

“ _You’re_ sorry!?”

“ _I_ wanna pretend it never happened!?”

They clam up again, staring, before bursting into simultaneous laughter. Overcome with relief, Lance lets his head fall forward, catching himself on one of Hunk’s burly shoulders.

“Oh my god, dude,” Lance giggles, his body shaking. “Did we seriously…?”

“...just completely _assume_ what the other was thinking?” Hunk finishes for him, resting a hand on Lance’s forearm. He nods. “Yeah, I really think we did.” 

“That’s so…” Lance casts about for the right word. “... _weird_ of us!”

“I know, right?” Hunk chuckles, swiping under his eye. “I thought for sure you wanted to forget the whole thing ever happened!”

“I thought that’s what _you_ wanted!” Lance exclaims. “You were acting completely normal—”

“ _You_ were acting completely normal! I was just following your lead, because clearly that’s what you wanted.”

“Why would _I_ want to forget that happened?” Lance asks, lifting his eyebrows meaningfully. “Pretty sure I’m the one who benefited the most from that.”

To his surprise, color rises to Hunk’s cheeks. It makes Lance realize that it’s the closest they’ve got to saying what _actually_ happened over the weekend. Lance feels heat creeping up his neck in answer. He pulls his hand away from Hunk’s shoulder, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Uhh, so yeah,” he says, a wave of awkwardness rolling through him. “I guess we’re both… cool with what happened, then.”

“Guess so…” Hunk murmurs.

Silence falls.

Their eyes meet and then slink away again sheepishly. The faceless boy in the bathroom must finish washing and drying his hands, because the pneumatic hiss of the door sounds and then slots closed again, leaving them in the quiet bathroom. Lance bites his bottom lip. If there was ever a time to say that he’d be cool with it happening again, _now is the time_ , he thinks.

“Sooo... thanks,” is what he says, trying to fight the roaring heat that floods his face when Hunk’s deep brown eyes meet his. “You really, uh… helped me out, there.”

It’s lame. He knows it. And he’s Lance McClain, so he has to keep talking to cover it up.

“I-I mean, you know I went to the party hoping to get laid, and you gave me a, uh—” Ugh, he’s backed himself into a very cliched corner and he has to end with, “...hand…”

Hunk tilts his head. “Dude.”

“I know, I know!” Lance hisses, flapping a hand at him. “I’m just saying, it really, uh…” He swallows hard, touching the tips of his index fingers together as he realizes he should probably stop talking but can’t. “It helped. Like, a lot. A lot, a lot, a lot, with the, uh— um. Well, let’s just say I’m not doing as much laundry as I was before! And it probably goes without saying, but it felt… good.”

Despite still looking deeply (appropriately) embarrassed by the entire conversation, Hunk seems to perk up at that. “Yeah?”

“Yeah!” Lance nods, eagerly latching onto something that doesn’t make Hunk look quite so shrunken and ashamed. “ _Way_ better than that OPHJ! My dick didn’t hurt at all afterwards!”

Hunk rolls his eyes with a laugh. “Dude, how many times…”

“Plus,” Lance barrels on, “I had no clue I’d like having my nips played with like that, so I guess you learn something new every day.”

The color in Hunk’s cheeks intensifies, which at this point isn’t unexpected. What _is_ unexpected is the way that his eyes go dark, too, a little glassy as they fall almost unbidden to Lance’s chest. It makes Lance’s stomach swoop, heat zinging in his veins.

“A-although,” he stammers, “those _did_ hurt a little afterwards…”

“Sorry.” Hunk doesn’t seem all that concerned, though, his voice rough. His eyes go heavy lidded, a knuckle lifting to toy with the hem of Lance’s uniform shirt.

“It’s okay,” Lance whispers, boiling inside at the brush of Hunk’s hand over his belt. “I… I liked it.”

When Hunk’s eyes rise to his, Lance can tell that Hunk already knows that he liked it. And, more importantly, that Hunk liked it, too.

“Hunk,” Lance breathes, his heart already pounding in his ears. “Can I…?”

Hunk’s hand fists in the hem of his shirt and yanks him forward by the hips, their mouths crashing together sloppily. Hunk’s lips are soft and huge, so much bigger than Lance’s that he already feels like he’s being overwhelmed, like he’s a tiny strip of a thing and Hunk is going to envelop him completely. 

Something about that makes him feel like he’s burning alive. 

He shivers, pressing himself tentatively against Hunk as he kisses desperately, messily, far more messily than he’s used to, trying to get his bearings as Hunk’s fist in his shirt holds him fast, his other hand cupping his face and slipping into his hair. He whines when Hunk jerks him even closer, their crotches pressing together so he can feel how Hunk is getting hard, just like Lance.

“Eager,” Hunk chuckles against his lips.

There’s no use hiding it—and why would he? This is _Hunk_ , his best friend, who he never hides _anything_ from. So Lance nods, his own hands wandering restlessly over Hunk’s arms, shoulders, chest. He doesn’t know where to put them; there’s so much of Hunk to touch and all of it intoxicating.

“I wanna...” Lance pants, not knowing how to end that sentence. Fortunately, Hunk’s mouth against his stops him from having to figure it out.

“Yeah, yeah,” Hunk murmurs, nodding against him, and Lance melts against him, kissing him harder. Because it’s _Hunk_ , he must already know what Lance is thinking, what Lance wants, and the realization washes over him again, joyful and delirious.

The fist in the hem of his shirt unfurls and cups hard around the growing bulge in his pants. Lance inhales sharply. “Fuck,” he gasps, his mind reeling with the contact. “M-me again? But what about—”

“Get— get on your knees.”

Lance’s jaw drops only a split second before he does. In an instant, he’s blinking up at Hunk from the tile floor, his mouth dry. Their eyes meet in something like surprise.

A giggle coils up through Lance’s throat, wanting to burst out; a smile twists his lips. “Wow, I really just—”

“Didn’t take much, huh?” Hunk chuckles, fingers carding through Lance’s hair.

“Ma always said I’m very suggestible,” Lance says with pride. Then his smile falters. “Wait, let’s not talk about my mom…”

“Agreed.”

“You shouldn’t have brought her up, dude.”

Hunk rolls his eyes, laughing fondly. “I’ll remember that next time.”

Lance’s eyes flare wide at the words _next time_ , excited sparks jumping in his stomach. But before he can follow up that line of thought, Hunk brings a hand to his own fly, and coherent thought takes a backseat as his vision narrows to the motion of Hunk’s fingertips popping the button of his uniform slacks.

Swallowing hard, Lance’s lips part. His eyes feel big as saucers. He’s never seen another guy’s dick this close before. Never seen _anyone’s_ genitals this close before, if he’s being honest, though not for lack of trying. Oral has always been a huge turn-on for him in porn; the thought of a juicy pussy slicking up his lips and chin has been a constant winner in his jerkoff fantasies, although thick cocks have begun featuring more prominently over the past week in particular, for obvious reasons. And now he’s gonna get to see firsthand what it’s like to get his mouth on someone else? And that someone else is his bestest best friend in the whole wide world!?

Here, on his knees in the boys’ bathroom, Lance is truly in heaven. 

His eyes flick up to Hunk’s, dark and hazed over staring back at Lance. The look there only stokes the fire in Lance’s gut, the throb in his own hard dick. He puts a steadying hand to Hunk’s knee, licking his lips as he cranes his neck. “You want me to…?”

“I helped you,” Hunk breathes, his square fingers reaching down to grasp the zipper pull of his pressed khakis and slide it down the teeth. Lance’s eyes snap back to the movement, zeroing in as anticipation mounts in his veins. “Now you’re gonna help me.”

Instantly, heat rockets through Lance’s body. “Holy crow,” is all he can say in response, swallowing down the saliva that just filled his mouth. His eyes must be enormous as they watch Hunk reach into his boxers and pull out—

Lance’s jaw drops open. “D-dude, you’re—!”

And he knows he’s stuttering, but he can’t help it, okay!? His buddy is— Like, it’s proportional to Hunk himself, which is to say it’s— he’s— 

“— _huge!_ ”

He _is_. His cock is not just long—probably about as long as Lance’s (or a little longer, if he’s being honest)—but it’s _thick_. It _droops_ with how thick it is, not so much erect as just _hard_ , fattened up and leaking. If Lance was not already hundo-P that he’s bi, the way he salivates at the sight of Hunk’s dick would pretty much burn away any possible remaining doubt.

Hunk’s thumb is at the side of his lips, teasing softly. “Yeah,” he murmurs, his eyes dark as they fix Lance in place. “And you’ve got a big mouth. Perfect, don’t you think?”

There’s a pool of gasoline in Lance’s gut, and Hunk’s words are a lit match. He goes up in flames.

He licks his lips and parts them, readying himself to take Hunk’s length, but before he can lean forward, Hunk’s thumb pushes into his mouth and down against his tongue. Lance gasps at the sensation, eyes flicking up to Hunk’s, staring darkly down at him. 

“You’re gonna have to open wider than that,” Hunk murmurs, pressing down harder. Obligingly, Lance lets his jaw fall farther open, until he can feel how the muscles are flexing by his ears. He watches as Hunk takes himself in a thick fist and gives his cock a strong pump, precome beading at the tip as he rocks forward.

That’s when the bell rings.

They both freeze. Beyond the bathroom, they can hear the shuffle of herds of their fellow classmates making their ways to class, calling to each other, streaming through the hallways. And that would be bad enough, the realization that they should be going to class, but to make matters worse there’s the telltale pneumatic hiss of the bathroom door followed by footsteps finding the stall beside them.

Lance’s heart pounds in his throat as he and Hunk listen together to their new companion—unknown and, hopefully, unaware—unzip his own fly, followed by the trickle of piss hitting the water of the toilet bowl. It would be so easy to be found out. All someone would need to do would be to crane their neck and they’d see Lance’s uniformed knees on the tile floor before Hunk’s boots.

Slowly, silently, Lance turns back to Hunk. Hunk is already looking down at him, just as frozen, his eyes just as wide. His dick is still cradled in his thick hand, still mere inches from Lance’s mouth.

And, well. They can’t very well leave _now_ , can they?

So, holding Hunk’s gaze, Lance opens his mouth wide and sticks out his tongue: a clear invitation. He tries not to let his lips quirk up mischievously like they want to; smiling will only make his mouth smaller.

And Hunk… Hunk’s eyes go even darker, if possible. His lips part on a silent, disbelieving inhale. His hand doesn’t move from Lance’s face, keeping his head still while he quietly shuffles closer, guiding his cock inch by inch to Lance's mouth.

The head touches the flat of Lance’s tongue, and Lance’s eyelids flutter shut. He physically can’t keep them open, with the way Hunk is watching him, making his pulse jump. Instead, he focuses his attention on trying to tuck his teeth into his lips and wrap them around Hunk’s girth.

It immediately becomes apparent that there are certain physical impossibilities involved in this situation. For one, Lance has never given head before, and although he’s enthusiastic, he’s also pretty clueless. For another, Hunk’s cock is too thick to fit much more than the first few enormous inches. Lance’s jaw pops with the effort to open wide enough, and still all that fits are the fat head, dripping salty precome over his tongue, and precious little of the shaft. 

He’s drooling over it. He wants more.

But he has to be quiet about it.

He braces his hands on Hunk’s thighs, trying to use his grip to drag him closer, farther inside his mouth. He gets maybe another few millimeters before he has to pull back for breath, his jaw already aching. Above him, he can hear Hunk huff a quiet laugh. It sets his skin on fire, hyper-aware of the closeness of the other person in the neighboring stall, how easily they could hear them, could hear Lance practically choking himself on Hunk’s dick...

He's startled suddenly by Hunk leaning in close. His fingertips brush Lance’s cheekbone, angling his face up so Hunk can whisper in his ear, “Trying to take all of me… Guess you really do like cock, don’t you, Lance?”

Lance clenches his eyes shut, a whimper struggling to squeeze its way out of his throat. It’s true, he _does_ like cock. He really, really fucking does.

Hunk stands back up as their faceless companion flushes the toilet and leaves the stall for the row of sinks, and Lance dives back in, filling his mouth yet again with Hunk’s cock. He bobs over the head, making sure to tongue at the spot just under the ridge, where he knows _he’s_ most sensitive. Satisfaction spikes in his core when Hunk’s fingers clench in his hair, when Hunk sucks in a breath that could probably be heard over the sound of the faucet.

“Ah, fuck,” Hunk gasps, getting sloppy now, and Lance can’t care—all he feels is _pride. He_ did that. “Gimme your hand.” 

Without a moment’s hesitation, Lance raises his arm. Hunk takes his wrist and brings his palm to his face. Lance can barely focus on anything other than trying to run his lips over the crown of Hunk’s dick just right, so he’s surprised to feel a strip of wet heat slide over his hand. His eyes flick up to find Hunk licking a sloppy stripe over his palm and then slowly bringing it back down to wrap around the shaft of Hunk’s cock, where his mouth can’t reach. Eyebrows pinched in concentration, Lance begins to stroke.

“Yeah,” Hunk sighs, his low voice barely audible over the sound of the hand-dryer starting up. He braces himself against the tile wall on splayed fingers. “Yeah, that’s it, Lance. Just like that.”

Lance’s blood surges in his veins, his own cock throbbing in answer, because— because fuck—

Fuck, his _name_. Hunk used his _name_.

And it was under cover of the rush of the automatic dryer, but imagine if… imagine if someone _knew_ it was him, on his knees, sucking dick in the bathroom. Doing such a good job that the person whose dick he’s sucking couldn’t help but praise him.

A quiet, overwhelmed moan vibrates in his throat, and he speeds up, eagerly chasing the noises, the words, that he’s dragging from Hunk. It doesn’t surprise him that the dirty talk is turning him on, but it _does_ surprise him that Hunk is the one doing it. Normally Lance is the Chatty Kathy, talking a blue streak while Hunk nods and laughs. The fact that Hunk is being so vocal is seriously doing things to him. Unable to help himself, he presses the heel of his free hand to his crotch, where his own dick is painfully hard against his slacks. He moans again, a nasally, high-pitched sound around Hunk’s cock, stretching his jaw and making his blood roar in his ears as he starts trying to stroke himself through his pants.

The huffed laugh above him tells him Hunk hasn’t missed Lance’s newest attempt at multitasking. “Touching yourself,” he murmurs, fingers carding through Lance’s short hair. “Can’t help it, huh.”

Lance whines. No, he can’t.

“You know, Lance,” Hunk whispers, and his tone would be almost conversational if he weren’t so breathless, “you’re kind of a slut.”

The word shoots fire through Lance’s whole body. If he didn’t have Hunk’s thick cock plugging up his mouth, he would have moaned loud enough to alert their unknown companion. Suddenly he’s so much closer to coming himself, and isn’t _that_ something? Getting off so hard on sucking cock that he’s going to come first? In his underwear, like he has no control over himself? The very idea swirls embarrassed, electric heat in his stomach.

Yet he can’t stop palming his dick. Can’t stop bobbing his head and working his other hand clumsily over the shaft that his lips can’t reach. Can’t stop his pursuit of Hunk’s heavy breaths, twitching muscles, flexing thighs, as the cock in his mouth is growing obviously harder against his tongue. Spit is seeping out the sides of his mouth, slickening the movements of his mouth and hand. Hunk’s fingers tense in his hair, a warning.

“Dude, I’m—” he hisses. “I’m gonna—”

Eagerly, Lance nods. He stays right where he is, pressing harder against the front of his pants, trying not to let the rhythm of his mouth and hand falter on Hunk’s cock. He can feel how Hunk is beginning to shudder, his knees to buckle, his breath to hitch, Lance’s own body reacting in mirror image, building, building, _building until—_

With a twisted, choked whimper, Lance comes in his underwear, his motions stuttering as he shivers dizzily through it. A second later, Hunk spills in his mouth, coating his tongue and palate with wet, bitter heat.

Breathing heavily, Lance slows his movements, his fist pressed to his lips as he wonders momentarily what he should do with the mess he’s holding on his tongue before he works his throat in a belated swallow. It’s not a pleasant taste exactly, but still it sends a thrill up his spine.

_You swallowed Hunk’s load_ , his mind whispers. The words are filthy, crass. Exhilarating. They raise goosebumps on the back of Lance’s neck. _You really are kind of a slut._

Gradually, he sits back, letting Hunk’s softening dick slip from his mouth as his jaw aches quietly. His bleary eyes crawl up Hunk’s heaving chest to meet his own eyes, blown wide with satisfaction and disbelief. Lance throws him a tentative smile, one that’s surely red and wet and swollen. The insides of his lips feel strange and sensitive where his teeth were digging into them; he runs his tongue along them curiously.

Hunk’s lips part. He sucks in a breath, and—

“You know,” drawls a dull, annoyed voice that has Lance’s pulse instantly jumping in his throat, “it would be great if you could keep it down next time you suck dick in the bathroom. _Really_ hard to piss with someone moaning like that the next stall over.”

The pneumatic hiss of the door roars in Lance’s ears as their secret companion finally makes his exit.

For a long moment, Lance and Hunk stare at each other, eyes wide. Lance’s heart pounds in his ribs, hand over his numb mouth.

“Was that… _Keith_?” he gasps.

“Y-yeah,” Hunk pants. “I think so.”

They hold each other’s gaze. Then they burst into laughter.

***

After that, all bets are off.

Lance and Hunk are fooling around _all. the. time._ Impromptu bunk inspections turn into frantic dick-tucking, pants-zipping, hair-checking. Doing their homework turns into mutual hand jobs at Hunk’s desk. 

Not to mention, they’re _touching_ all the time, too. Lance’s concerns about their lack of contact between the party and the accessible bathroom stall are all but forgotten with the way Hunk is always patting his back, rubbing his shoulder--even once brushing some crumbs from beside Lance’s mouth at lunch, a gesture that had Pidge’s expression turning to flat exasperation. 

And Lance returns it all, draping himself over Hunk’s body at every opportunity. He demands piggy-back rides on the regular, which tend to evolve into him not-so-subtly grinding his half-hard dick against Hunk’s lower back, which in turn tends to evolve into some _extremely_ unsubtle grinding once they’re in private.

The first time Hunk fingers him, Lance is practically begging for it. 

That initial hookup in the bedroom at the party has been featuring prominently in his dreams. He wakes up many mornings achingly hard from the thought Hunk’s thick cock pressed against his ass, and then _into_ his ass, one knee slung over the vanity to spread himself for Hunk to split him open. In his dreams, he comes so hard he coats the surface of the mirror and it drips down in white, translucent ripples, his body heaving hazily in the reflection with the strength of Hunk’s thrusts.

Lance manages to procure a vat of Vaseline from the commissary, and practices with himself a couple times. It doesn’t do a whole lot for him on its own, but feels _really_ good when he jerks off at the same time, makes him shoot off so hard he almost hits himself in the eye once. 

When he confides in Hunk what he’s doing, Hunk’s thick eyebrows shoot halfway up to his headband in a way that tells Lance it’s both unexpected and highly enticing. Within minutes, Lance is naked from the waist down on his bed, legs held spread apart while Hunk watches with blown-out pupils as Lance sinks a finger inside himself.

The begging comes after Hunk presses his tongue to Lance’s hole alongside his fingers. It might be the hottest thing Lance has ever experienced in his short life.

The first time Hunk finds his prostate, Lance goes off almost instantly. In his defense, Hunk was also semi-lazily sucking his dick at the same time, edging him patiently for what felt like hours but was probably closer to fifteen minutes. It’s just that Hunk’s mouth is so warm and wet, his lips so shiny and huge wrapped around his cock—it makes everything so languid and luxurious that Lance feels like he’s floating in a warm bath.

Until Hunk touches a spot inside him that has him writhing and moaning, spilling into Hunk’s mouth without warning as his soul ascends, buoyed by overwhelming heat.

When Hunk pulls back, they both stare at each other, agog. Lance says, out of breath, “You _gotta_ do that again.”

“Hell yeah,” Hunk replies, just as breathless. “How about right now?” 

After that, they’re both kind of obsessed with Lance’s prostate—Lance with the way it makes his whole body feel like it’s melting into warm honey, Hunk with the way Lance can’t fucking control the noises he makes when Hunk hits it just right. 

Lance starts keeping a travel bottle of Vaseline in his uniform breast pocket. It’s an old shampoo bottle, one of the tiny ones they make for hotels, and it was a bitch to try to gloop the Vaseline in there once the shampoo was out, but he thinks he might be half a genius for coming up with it.

Because their bathroom hookup was not a one-time thing, and once Lance gets a taste of the sensation of Hunk’s thick fingers opening him up, filling him, he’s practically insatiable. He wants it constantly—daydreams about it in class, mind wandering as he squeezes his thighs together at his desk—and somehow Hunk just _knows_ when his thoughts meander to that particular scenario. The fact that their best friend mind-meld extends to this, too, both elates Lance and somehow does not surprise him.

Not only are they messing around all the time; they’re also doing it _everywhere_. Lance doesn’t know exactly why—they share a dorm room, which would be the obvious option—but he can’t control himself anymore. Any time he and Hunk are even sort of alone, they’re at least making out, dry humping or rubbing each other off through clothes. A field trip to a local aerospace museum turns into a surreptitious pickle-tickle on the bus, blocked from view only by a draped jacket. A late-night homework session in the library turns into Hunk coming on Lance’s glasses, the ones only Hunk knows about anyway because Lance doesn’t wear them in public. And most amazing of all, practicing in the simulator turns into Lance getting head in the pilot’s chair. 

That last one was a fantasy that he’s pretty sure he told Hunk about before they started messing around like this. Lance counts it as yet more evidence that hooking up with his best friend is perhaps the best decision he’s ever almost, kind of made.

It actually becomes kind of a problem; it’s hard to concentrate on schoolwork when all Lance wants all the time is to be sucking Hunk’s dick, or riding Hunk’s thick fingers.

“You really should study, man,” Hunk tells him from his desk, where he _and_ his thick fingers are sitting, instead of on Lance’s bed. Which: rude. “Iverson already doesn’t like you.”

Lance pouts, squinting up at the ceiling from his bed. “Iverson’s just mad because no one wants to fuck _him_ ,” he declares. “He’s jealous. He can _sense_ that I’m having more sex than he is.”

Hunk sighs good-naturedly. “Yeah. That’s what it is. It’s not that you disregard almost all of his instructions every time you’re in the simulator.”

“Hmm, maybe if I wasn’t such a slut,” Lance muses, kicking his slender legs in the air. He steps delicately through the air, as though he’s walking on the ceiling of their dorm, skirting the fluorescent overhead lights. “Maybe then he’d give me better grades. He’s a prude, is what it is.”

At his desk, Hunk is quiet. Lance is consumed with imagining that gravity is reversed, that the ceiling is the floor and the floor the ceiling, and all of their furniture is bolted so it won’t fall. He would have to step over the threshold of the doorway to enter the bathroom, would have to avoid kicking the bulb out of the drop light…

“Does it hurt your feelings when I call you a slut?”

Lance’s legs fall to the bed with twin thuds. “Huh?”

Hunk is chewing on the end of his pen nervously, mouth screwed up. “It’s not, like, a nice thing to say about someone…” 

“Oh.” Lance stares at Hunk. He honestly hadn’t thought about it that way. And Hunk has called him _slut_ , _slutty, whore, strumpet_ —though that last one was clearly a joke—many times at this point, and when he says it in that low, gravelly voice, with a hand fisted in Lance’s hair or pressing hard on the sides of his throat, well… it’s a surefire way to get Lance feeling delirious and fuzzy behind the eyes.

But Hunk is biting his pen, avoiding Lance’s gaze. He looks… unsure. Nervous. Worried, like maybe he’s been hurting Lance’s feelings with all the crazy-hot things he says.

Lance pushes himself up on the bed, rolling onto his side so he’s facing Hunk, his head propped on his hand. “You really don’t need to worry about that, dude,” he says.

Hunk’s eyes meet his shyly. “You sure?”

“Yeah!” He nods eagerly, encouragingly. “It doesn’t hurt my feelings at all, promise. Plus, I mean,” he chuckles, smirking, “I _am_ kind of a slut.”

Dismay flashes across Hunk’s face. “But… _are_ you?” he says. “You’ve only ever done stuff with me and that girl from summer camp.”

Lance huffs. “Ugh, fine, if you wanna get technical about it,” he mutters, waving a hand. “ _Aspiring_ slut, then.”

Hunk huffs a laugh, tapping his pen against his textbook. “Kind of a mouthful.”

“Yeah, you are,” Lance returns, waggling his eyebrows.

Color streaks across Hunk’s cheeks. “Duuude,” he says bashfully.

“And I’d say sucking your mouthful in the bathroom during lunch is pretty slutty behavior, anyway,” Lance goes on, rolling onto his back and kicking his legs up again, feet in the air. “And we know at least _Keith_ heard, so… mission accomplished!”

Hunk doesn’t say anything to that. Squinting, Lance walks on the ceiling in graceful silence.

***

Eventually, things come to a head.

It’s late Friday afternoon, nearly evening, which means Lance’s cohort is in the simulator. It’s not just the pilots; they’re flying with full crews, engineers and communications included. And Shiro— uhh, Mr. Shirogane (as they’re supposed to call him when they’re in front of Iverson, even though all the cadets call him Shiro in private) is watching them, which just has Lance even more determined to make a good impression. This guy is the reason he wants to be a pilot! Plus he’s… 

Well. Anyway. There are many reasons that Lance’s heart thumps extra hard whenever Shiro’s eyes are on him.

To Lance’s immense relief, his go in the sim is one of his better runs. He kinda goes off-course at one part, kinda misses the drop point he’s supposed to be going for, but that’s because they lose an engine unexpectedly and they’re flying lopsided and Hunk is freaking out behind him and Lance is trying his absolute best not to have a “party wipe” situation. It’s only a simulator, but it still would feel pretty bad to know he’s killed himself and both his friends.

At the end of the session, they file back into their classroom and stand at attention beside their respective desks to receive Mr. Shirogane’s assessments. As is typical, he’s complimentary by and large. Encouraging. Earnest. Says something about patience and focus that Lance is too impatient to focus on.

“Oh, and McClain? Lance McClain?”

His name on Mr. Shirogane’s lips has Lance snapping to attention, his formerly relaxed spine going ramrod straight. “Y-yes, sir?” he stammers.

To his surprise, Mr. Shirogane smiles at him warmly. He steps forward to meet Lance where he’s standing in line, and places a warm, heavy hand on his shoulder. “Good job in the simulation today, cadet,” he tells him kindly. “Quick thinking like that can save your crew, even if it’s not strictly according to regulations.” He gives Lance a steady smile, a twinkle of a near-wink in his eyes, and Lance’s heart slams eagerly into his ribs.

“Y-yes, sir!” he stammers again, delighted. If he had a tail, it’d be wagging and knocking things off countertops. “Thank you, sir!”

Mr. Shirogane gives him one last, approving look and then proceeds past the rest of the students to the front of the classroom.

Lance has to fight down his ecstatic smile while his classmates relax in Mr. Shirogane’s absence. Their posture softens, their shoulders slouching as they turn to chat with their partners, gathering their books and messenger bags. Normally Lance would be doing the same, chatting animatedly with Hunk and Pidge, or else grumbling and railing to cover up his embarrassment at whatever flight error he made _this_ time. But today he’s silent, cradling Mr. Shirogane’s praise in his heart like a shining jewel. Smiling to himself, he sits on top of his desk, letting his feet dangle while Hunk packs up beside him and the rest of their classmates slowly filter out of the classroom.

Finally, they’re alone. Hunk’s things are packed but Lance hasn’t even started on his. That’s fine, though; it’s their last class of the day, and they have nowhere to be except, eventually, the mess hall.

“Good job in the sim today, man,” Hunk says, a hand landing on Lance’s shoulder. He gives a supportive smile, and Lance feels his metaphorical tail start to wag again. It’s a golden fluttering in his chest; it suffuses him with warmth. He feels like he can do anything.

He leans back on a palm, crossing an ankle over his knee as he smirks. “Think I’m Shiro’s new favorite?”

Hunk laughs, rolling his eyes. “I think you’d have to have a few dozen more sessions like that one to usurp Keith,” he says kindly, patting Lance in sympathy.

Lance is feeling too good to let that get to him, though. “Quick thinking like that can save my crew, ya know,” he says instead, his smile spreading with pride.

“So I heard,” Hunk chuckles, withdrawing his hand as he moves to step away.

Lance reaches up to catch Hunk’s wrist before he can, tugging him closer. “That means you, buddy,” he says, grinning up into his face. “C’mon, don’tcha have a kiss for the guy who saved your life?” Impulsively, he pulls harder on Hunk’s wrist at the same time as he sits up, slotting his smiling mouth against Hunk’s.

A surprised noise vibrates against Lance’s lips, uttered from Hunk’s throat. Their mouths break apart almost as soon as they touch, Hunk blinking in shock. His eyes skitter to the open classroom door. “D-dude, we’re still—”

“Re _lax_ ,” Lance chides him, reaching for Hunk’s other arm, as well. He pulls him forward to let both Hunk’s thick forearms rest on Lance’s thin, uniformed shoulders, smiling encouragingly into Hunk’s dubious expression. “It’s a Friday, and we’re always the last class in the sim. No one’s gonna walk by.”

Hunk’s grits his teeth uncertainly. Lance can feel how he’s wringing his hands behind Lance’s head. “Shiro’s office is, like, right down the hall…”

“So? He’s like us, you know.” Lance smirks lasciviously, waggling eyebrows. “Bet he’d like to watch. Find out his new favorite student isn’t only good in the simulator, if ya know what I mean…”

Sighing, Hunk shakes his head. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Oh, I’m _highly_ encourage-able,” Lance agrees readily, settling his hands on either side of Hunk’s neck and thumbing along his jaw. “You should encourage me to take off my pants.”

Hunk laughs at that. Really laughs. It makes Lance grin, watching him. Hunk is so fucking cute. Handsome. Hot. Wonderful, amazing, perfect angel human. Lance is so lucky to call him his best friend.

Best friend with benefits. Benefits he’d like to cash in right now, actually.

He pulls gently at Hunk’s neck, tugging him down to meet Lance’s mouth. This time, Hunk doesn’t hesitate; he kisses back smilingly, and then more heatedly as Lance parts his lips and teases Hunk’s tongue with his. 

When Lance moves back slightly, resting their foreheads together, Hunk’s expression has changed. It’s darker now, more sultry. The arms around Lance’s shoulders are holding him close, toying with the short hairs at the back of his neck.

“So it’s not just Keith, huh,” Hunk murmurs, pulling back so he can look darkly down his nose at Lance. “I have to worry about you sucking Mr. Shirogane’s dick, too?”

Fire crackles in Lance’s veins. He loves it when Hunk gets like this, severe and warning, with that dark look in his eyes that tells him Hunk is gonna wring some kinda mind-blowing orgasm from him within the next hour.

“Hunk, he’s a _teacher_ ,” Lance whispers, biting his lip when Hunk steps even closer, forcing Lance to widen his legs to allow Hunk between his knees.

“Yeah, and?”

Lance doesn’t have an answer to that one. The mental image of himself on his knees in front of Mr. Shirogane, his hero, is quickly hazing over his mind. Maybe Hunk could be there, too, telling Lance how to suck cock, telling Mr. Shirogane how Lance likes it when you tuck his hair behind his ear and call him names. Yanking Lance’s pants down, spreading his ass, and shoving his own overwhelming dick in so Lance is speared from both ends…

Yeah, Lance is definitely hot for teacher. But to be honest, he’s hotter for Hunk.

“What would you do if I did?” Lance asks daringly, a mischievous smile spreading over his face. “If you didn’t have me all to yourself anymore?”

It’s meant to stoke the dark fire burning in Hunk’s eyes, to goad Hunk into pulling his hair or shoving him down to the floor, taking what he wants. But to his surprise, Hunk’s expression falters, hurt flickering across his face. It makes Lance’s own mask drop, drawing in a breath to apologize, to chase that emotion, to ask what he said to make him—

But Hunk’s expression settles again, and the hard edge comes back so strongly that Lance decides it must have been a fluke, a trick of the light that made him think something was amiss. 

Hunk leans forward, splaying one palm on Lance’s thigh. “You really think anyone else could treat you as well as I do?” he asks, a knuckle brushing at Lance’s throat to take his sharp chin between his thumb and forefinger. He tilts Lance’s head up to his, his gaze searching. “You think anyone else could give you what you need?”

And it’s not the reaction that Hunk’s looking for, he knows it’s not, but somehow his heart swells up into his throat, choking off his words. Because… no. No one else treats Lance as well as Hunk does, no one else gives Lance what he needs the way Hunk does. No one else knows instinctively what that is before Lance himself even does. 

Case in point: Hunk just put words to the thoughts that have been swirling in Lance’s gut ever since they started hooking up. 

Will he ever have this with anyone again? Does he even have this _now_? Or is this just as temporary as his dumb hookup OPHJ at summer camp, and will end as soon as they go home for the season?

His silence must draw Hunk’s attention, because Hunk blinks at him, brow twitching in confusion. He takes a breath, makes as though to pull away. “Lance—”

Lance surges forward and kisses him, forces their mouths together so questions won’t be asked, or answered. No questions, please; Lance is not available. He’s only here for Hunk’s soft lips on his, for Hunk’s big hands clutching at his sides, for Hunk’s hips spreading his thighs around them and drawing him in.

To his relief, Hunk kisses him back, hesitation melting into excitement as Lance twines their tongues together with abandon. He winds his arms over Hunk’s shoulders, pulling him close so their chests press together hard, follows it up by wrapping his legs around his lower back and canting his hips forward, wantonly grinding his growing erection against Hunk’s stomach. 

Finally, Hunk growls, a rumble in his chest and against Lance’s mouth. It’s familiar, reassuring, and Lance smiles into their kiss as Hunk’s hands wander down to his ass, gripping his slim hips easily in two enormous palms, lifting Lance and helping his motions, and _yes, this_ is what Lance wanted. Simple. No questions, no wondering.

No wondering why hurt flashed through Hunk’s face at the idea of not having Lance to himself.

No wondering why Lance’s heart thudded in his throat in response to Hunk’s question.

No wondering why there is no one else in Lance’s mind but Hunk.

No wondering.

Lance’s hands go to the snaps at the breast of his jacket, hurriedly baring his undershirt to the air. Meanwhile, Hunk’s fingers pop open the clasp of Lance’s uniform pants with practiced ease, tugging them down insistently. Lance pouts when the spread of his legs prevents the pants from coming down any farther, and Hunk rolls his eyes good-naturedly as Lance petulantly unhooks his ankles behind Hunk’s lower back in order to shimmy his pants down before it hits him.

“Here?” Lance pants, mind reeling. “In the classroom?”

“I thought you said to relax,” Hunk returns slyly, pulling the fabric down his slim legs. He presses a wet kiss to the inside of Lance’s knee that somehow has Lance’s eyes crossing. “It’s Friday, no one’s gonna come through, et cetera, et cetera…”

“Yeah, but that was before my ass was fully out and cooling on the desk.”

“Can you wait until we get back to the dorm?”

Lance thinks about it for barely a second before he’s shaking his head, yanking Hunk’s face to his by the collar and pressing their lips together again. Hunk is smiling into his mouth as he slips a hand into Lance’s breast pocket and pulls out that travel bottle of lube to slick up his fingers.

“That’s what I thought,” Hunk murmurs, a blunt fingertip circling Lance’s hole before sinking in easily. Hunk fingered him this morning; he’s still slightly loose from taking two thick fingers while bent over their bathroom sink, moaning at his reflection in the mirror.

Come to think of it, a lot of Lance and Hunk’s encounters involve mirrors in one way or another. Probably not great for Lance’s well-known obsession with his own reflection, though excellent for his sex life.

Lance’s hands scrabble at Hunk’s uniform, desperate for something to hang on to while he sucks in a breath at the sensation of Hunk nudging his prostate. Within a few minutes, Hunk presses a second finger in, and Lance opens eagerly, sighing as he falls back on the desk, unable to hold on to Hunk any longer. Hunk’s fingers are gentle but firm, slow but unstoppable in their movements. It drives Lance crazy; he feels like Hunk is _dragging_ his orgasm from him, like he’s some string instrument—a cello or, let’s be honest, a violin—and Hunk is the bow, drawing across him and pulling music from his lungs.

“Listen to you,” Hunk murmurs, as Lance hits a soft, fluttering note in response to a practiced motion inside him. “ _Look_ at you. Anyone could, you know,” he adds, voice lower in a way that curls hot in Lance’s belly. “Anyone could walk past that door and see you writhing on the desk. Anyone in the hallway could hear you moaning on my fingers.”

Lance whimpers. He shoves a hand in his mouth, biting down on the meat beneath his thumb to muffle the sound.

But Hunk catches his wrist, rips his hand away. “Uh-uh,” he says, shaking his head. “Wanna hear you. And so does the rest of the Garrison.” His eyes flick past Lance’s shoulder, to the doorway, as though someone has appeared. Lance’s heart leaps into his throat, adrenaline surging, before Hunk’s gaze returns to his, smirking down at him. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? For everyone to know what a slut you are?”

“God,” he chokes out, struggling against Hunk’s hold on his wrist, trying to cover his mouth again as Hunk pulls another dizzy moan from his chest.

Heat is pooling rapidly in his gut, gathering in the base of his spine. Hunk knows him so well by now— _knew_ him so well, even before all this, and it only makes it that much better. He works methodically, building something fiery and rich out of Lance’s muscles and sinew, until blood is roaring through him, drowning out the ever-louder noises spilling from his lips.

It’s so much. It’s _too_ much, but somehow not enough. He’s getting so close, his head spinning, but he wants more, he can’t handle this anymore, this _almost_ — he wants— he _needs—_

He flings out an arm to grip Hunk’s collar, hauling himself up so they’re face to face, noses brushing. Hunk’s eyes flare wide at the sudden closeness, at their mingled breaths, at Lance’s whisper:

“Fuck me.”

Hunk stalls his movements. Lance can hear the sharp intake of breath beside his ear. He pulls back slowly, so that his eyes can focus on Hunk’s, dark and wide open in disbelief. A hand runs down Lance’s side softly, almost placatingly.

“Here?” Hunk asks softly. “Now?”

Lance nods, swallowing hard. “Yeah,” he breathes, trailing fingers down Hunk’s chest and stomach to the thick length he can feel in his uniform slacks. “I need it. Need you.”

Slowly, Hunk’s eyes search Lance’s. This close, Lance can see the pupils dilate, eating him up eagerly. And Lance lets him look, offers himself up willingly to be devoured.

“Lance…” Hunk’s fingers begin again to prod gently at his hole, curling to brush against that spot that makes Lance’s hips buck involuntarily. “You can’t even fit me in your mouth. I’ll— I’ll break you.”

“I can take it,” Lance says defiantly, leaning away to brace against the desk on his palms, availing himself for Hunk with a further spread of his thighs. “I’ve been practicing.”

Hunk raises an eyebrow at him. _“When?”_ he asks incredulously.

Lance huffs. He should have expected Hunk to call him on his bluff; they spend practically every waking hour together these days, ever since starting to shower together and no longer being shy about jerking it with the other in the room. “Well, what else would you call it whenever you fingerfuck me? It’s practice, isn’t it?”

Hunk rolls his eyes. “Lance, the most you’ve ever taken is two…”

“Yeah, and I could totally take more!” Lance insists. Coyly, he runs a hand down the inside of his spread thigh to cup around his own dick, giving it a few soft tugs that draw Hunk’s eyes hungrily. 

Inwardly, he grins. Distraction achieved. 

“C’mon, I need it,” he whines. “I wanna come on your cock, Hunk. Fill me up with your seed.”

“My _seed_?” Hunk sputters, laughing.

“It’s more poetic than ‘jizz’,” Lance explains. “That’s not the point. The point is, fuck me. Please, Hunk? Please fuck me in this empty classroom.”

Hunk lets out a long, low, deeply skeptical noise, his nose scrunching, and Lance knows he has him. Just has to give him _one_ more nudge. 

He pouts, slanting his eyebrows up and giving Hunk the puppy-dog eyes that he knows for a fact Hunk can’t resist. It’s what got Hunk in that Aladdin costume in the first place. It’s what started this whole, mad series of decisions that led to them here, Lance naked from the waist down with two of Hunk’s thick fingers buried in his ass in Mr. Shirogane’s classroom. 

“Would you at least give me the tip?” he pleads, toying coquettishly with his own dick, hard and leaking over his hand. “You got me all wound up, Hunk. Wanna come on _something_ …”

The noise Hunk’s making goes high-pitched, almost whining, but to Lance’s shock, he doesn’t seem ready to cave. Hunk must seriously be worried about hurting him. But Lance can take it! Lance has been thinking of little _but_ taking it for the past several days. Lance _dreams_ of taking it.

Is Hunk really not gonna give it to him? But he wants it so bad! And he can tell Hunk does, too, with the way his eyes keep falling to Lance’s hard cock, curving over his belly; with the way his fingers haven’t stopped really moving inside him, have only gentled their movements as though on autopilot, as though Hunk is turning over something else in his mind. As though Hunk is no longer planning to make Lance come on his fingers alone.

So they’re roughly on the same page, but Hunk is hesitating for some reason. And normally Lance’s big-eyed wheedling can get rid of that hesitation, but Hunk’s digging in his heels slightly more than usual. So Lance will have to try some other tactic, but he has no idea what.

Well, that’s not true. There is _one_ thing that Lance knows will get him what he wants. It’s not strictly fair of him to use against Hunk, but desperate times. And with the way Hunk’s fingers are still curling inside him, still brushing over his prostate and sending tingles through his veins, Lance is certainly feeling desperate.

So he lets his shoulders slump, pursing his lips petulantly as though he’s accepting Hunk’s rejection. “ _Fiiine_.” He sighs, falling back onto his elbows on the desk as he grumbles, “I bet _Keith_ would let me come on his dick…”

Hunk goes very still.

And then, wordlessly, he pulls away.

Lance’s breath hitches, his pulse jumping in horror. Hunk’s fingers slip from him, leaving him empty. 

No, no, _no-no-no_ , this isn’t what he wanted! Hunk’s eyes were supposed to go dark, Hunk was supposed to growl and shove another finger inside, start opening him up like he really _meant_ it, not walk away!

“H-Hunk?”

But Hunk is walking away, refusing to meet Lance’s eyes. Lance scrambles on the desk, rolling to his side to watch as Hunk heads to the door.

“B-buddy,” he stammers, fear and confusion screaming through him. He reaches a hand out fruitlessly; Hunk ignores it. “Hey, don’t— What’re you—?”

Hunk reaches the door. Silently, he closes it. Presses the lock.

Relief washes over Lance. He sighs, melting against the desk. “Jesus Christ, dude, you scared me,” he groans. “I thought I had—” 

— _hurt your feelings._

“I thought you were—” 

_—fed up and finally gonna leave me._

He huffs. “Don’t scare me like that!”

Slowly, Hunk turns back to Lance, his expression unreadable. His eyes flash with… _something_. Something Lance can’t put a finger on.

“Thought I’d make sure we’re not interrupted,” Hunk says quietly. “Even if that _is_ what you want.”

Lance blinks. “Huh? I don’t want that.”

Hunk laughs, pacing toward him. “Don’t you? I thought you were an aspiring slut.”

“Oh, well.” Laughing, Lance puffs out his chest. “I _am_ , but I don’t need—”

“Don’t you want everyone at the Garrison to hear you? To see you? To know that you’re— what were your words? ‘Extremely available’?”

The phrase rings a bell, but it takes Lance a moment to recognize from where. The party. The one that started all of this. Color rises to his cheeks at the memory. How stupid he was not to realize he could have this with _Hunk_. He didn’t need to put himself out there for something that would never— _could_ never—be this good.

“I mean,” he chuckles, looking away, “I wouldn’t say _extremely_ …”

Hunk reaches the desk, resumes his place between Lance’s thighs but doesn’t replace his fingers. He rests his hands on either side of Lance’s knees, leaning over him. Scrutinizing him.

Lance’s heart pounds in his chest. Does Hunk—? Is that not what he thinks this is…?

“U-uhh… because… you know,” he stutters, gulping. “I’m hooking up with you.”

Hunk fixes him with a stare. Intense. Unreadable. 

Lance peers back, shoulders hunched. Confused. Uncertain.

Finally, Hunk breaks eye contact. He straightens, pulling away the arms bracketing Lance’s body to cross in front of his chest. “What is it about Keith, anyway? He’s kind of a jerk.”

Lance blinks in surprise. “Huh? Keith?”

“He barely even knows you exist, you know,” Hunk goes on, his shoulders by his ears, arms crossed tightly. “He doesn’t talk to anyone, he’s always getting into fights. I bet he doesn’t even know your name.”

And okay, ouch? Lance has no clue why they’re suddenly talking about Keith but… “Jeez, don’t hold back,” he grumbles.

“I just don’t get it,” Hunk goes on, shrugging. “Like, maybe he would hook up with you if you asked, but… you shouldn’t have to _ask_.”

Lance frowns at him. “Hunk, what—” 

“A-and why do you care if _Keith_ notices you, of all people, anyway? I guess he’s attractive in an emo kind of way but he’s not funny, or nice. You’re not even… You’re not even _friends_...”

The word hangs between them. 

Lance stares at Hunk, the cogs working in his brain. Hunk is biting his lower lip, studiously avoiding Lance’s gaze, looking anywhere _but_ Lance who is, lest anyone forget, still naked from the waist down with his dick out and his ass lubed up and half-stretched. By all accounts, Hunk shouldn’t be thinking about _Keith_.

But he is.

Lance might know why. 

“Hunk,” he says quietly, propping himself up on a hand. He reaches softly for Hunk’s wrist, getting Hunk to turn his eyes to him. “I’m not thinking about Keith, I promise.”

Hunk’s brows pinch together. “But you said—”

“I shouldn’t have said that,” Lance interrupts him smoothly. “I just wanted to get you to fuck me. It was—” He purses his lips, bobbing his head. “Okay, thinking about it now, in retrospect, it was shitty. I can see how that was shitty.”

“Really shitty,” Hunk agrees with a nod.

“But I wanted that dick!” Lance exclaims, gesturing to Hunk’s crotch. “That world-class hog!”

Hunk’s eyes drift closed in exasperation. “Lance.”

“What? Tell me that thing wouldn’t win awards. Tell me it’s not a blue-ribbon butternut squash.”

“Lance…” But Hunk is starting to snicker in spite of himself. He covers his eyes with a hand, embarrassed.

“A spider would spin a web about it,” Lance goes on, because he’s very well-read. “‘Some hog!’ it would say, and you’d get a buttermilk bath.”

Finally, Hunk laughs. His body language relaxes fully, his shoulders going loose and shaking with laughter. Lance’s heart swells with warmth, watching him.

Tugging Hunk closer again, Lance smiles. He abandons Hunk’s wrist to cup his face in his hands. Earnestly, he tells him, “You are my absolute, one-hundred-percent, best friend in this whole world. I’m not thinking about Keith, or Shiro, or anyone else. I’m just an aspiring slut for _you_ , buddy. Cross my heart.”

Hunk’s lower lip juts out, trembling just a little. “Du- _ude_ …” he sniffs.

“I know,” Lance responds with a grin. He gives him a smacking kiss on the lips and pats him on the cheek before leaning his weight back on an elbow, allowing his knees to wing out to give Hunk another glimpse of the goods. “Now, where exactly’d we land on the whole my-best-friend-fucking-me thing?”

Apparently, they landed smack dab in the middle of it.

Hunk’s mouth returns to Lance’s at the same time as his fingers return to Lance’s hole, one and then two almost instantly, pumping slowly as shivers wrack Lance’s body. He sprawls out on the desk, their mouths disconnecting with a muffled whine.

Skin burning, Lance breathlessly fumbles his arms out of the uniform blazer, leaving him only in his white, threadbare undershirt. He knows he’s flushing down to his nascent abs, knows his ribs are heaving with every breath, knows he must look like something out of a real bodice-ripper. Hopes Hunk gets off on it as much as he does.

With a pleased hum, Hunk shoves the shirt up to Lance’s collarbone and leans over him to take a nipple in his mouth. Lance lets out a keening sigh, carding his fingers through Hunk’s hair. The dual stimulation of Hunk’s teeth scraping over his nipple while his fingers curl inside sends heat pooling in his core. 

“Fuck,” he pants, a wry smile rising unbidden to his parched lips. “You really do like my itty bitty tiddies, huh?”

Lance glances down to see Hunk close his eyes and huff a laugh through his nose. It fans over the heated skin of Lance’s sternum. He twists his fingers harder in him, and Lance’s head falls back against the desk, his back arching with a cry.

Hunk opens him up on two for longer than Lance thinks is strictly necessary before he pulls away to squirt lube on his third finger. Seeing three of Hunk’s thick fingers side by side sends a thrill up Lance’s spine, anticipation tinged with apprehension. Can he actually do this? Or is it just another instance of Lance’s eyes being too big for his body?

Hunk looks equally apprehensive, eyes flicking to Lance’s and back down to where his fingers are supposed to fit. “Uhh,” he says nervously.

“Y-yeah?”

“Maybe you’d want to, um… turn over?”

Lance blinks at him for just a moment before grasping what he’s asking. He lets his confident mask fall over his nervousness, smirking with bravado. “You wanna see the goods, huh, Hunky?” he purrs.

Hunk chuckles, running his dry palm over Lance’s thighs and taut balls, making him shiver. “Pretty sure I’m getting a solid view from here, but yeah, show ’em off, I guess.”

“If you’ve got it, flaunt it,” Lance says happily as he shifts his hips and rolls over onto his stomach. It’s not quite as comfortable as being on his back, but it’s undeniably erotic. It gets his blood pumping. His dick hangs down just off the edge of the desk; he can feel a cool string of precome connecting it to his thigh. “All right, do your worst!” he declares. “I’ll never reveal the location of the microchip!”

Hunk laughs. “That’s what you think, Mr. Bond,” he growls, and then a hand cracks across his ass, making Lance squeal with laughter and arousal in equal parts. “Tell me what you know!”

Lance grits his teeth, choking down a giggle as Hunk splays one hand over his lower back, the other circling his rim yet again. “I know I’m _really_ into this superspy/supervillain roleplay. I always thought I wanted the Bond girl, but if the sexy villain is gonna bend me over and _torture_ me, I guess I’m gonna— _ohhh fuck, hahh—_ ” 

His hands grip the edge of the desk as he sucks in a desperate breath. Hunk is wriggling a third finger inside him and okay, maybe hubris really _is_ a crime against the gods. Three is a _lot_ , especially coming from Hunk.

“You gotta relax for me, Lance,” Hunk says softly, his dry hand petting softly at his skin.

“I know, I know,” he gasps, nodding with his eyes shut tight. He takes a deep breath and lets it out, forcing his body to unclench, to let Hunk in.

“Theeere we go,” Hunk murmurs, his slick fingers sliding in more easily now. The stretch has Lance’s eyes rolling back in his head, his mouth open and panting against the desk, which he realizes distantly is probably extremely gross, but all of those thoughts are erased from his mind when Hunk breathes in something like awe: “Holy shit, Lance, you’re really taking three of my fingers. You look so fucking good.”

Pride runs like molten gold through Lance’s body, his veins shining. Is it possible to have both a humiliation kink _and_ a praise kink? Dizzily, Lance wonders if there are any kinks he _doesn’t_ have.

Hunk’s fingers are thick and overwhelming inside him, so big that they can barely move at first. Ever so slowly, Hunk pistons them in and out, gaining speed as Lance’s body relaxes and the overwhelmed noises Lance’s throat is releasing begin to sound more full-bodied. All the while, Hunk keeps up a steady stream of dirty talk, alternating between telling Lance how good he looks stretched around his knuckles and how slutty he looks face-down and drooling on the desk, whining for Hunk’s cock. 

And Lance’s chest resonates with both. He feels in his bones that the words are true. He must look a fucking sight, taking three huge fingers inside him, writhing at their girth and still wanting more. He wishes desperately that he could see himself from Hunk’s perspective, laid out, thighs spread, moaning mindlessly…

Then Hunk is leaning over him, his palm sliding up Lance’s spine until it reaches the middle of his shoulder blades. Hushed, he whispers, “I… I think you’re ready for me, Lance.” 

O-oh. Oh boy, here they go…

Equal parts eagerness and apprehension shoot up Lance’s spine. He feels breathless already from the stretch of taking three fingers, and he knows Hunk’s cock is even thicker, more relentless. But god, he wants it. Wants to know what it feels like for his best friend to split him open, make him his.

So Lance sets his jaw and widens his stance, even reaching a hand back to spread his ass further, reveling in how it makes Hunk suck in a breath as he straightens behind him.

“Born ready,” he replies, as smoothly as he can. He shoots a lopsided grin over his shoulder for good measure.

“Mm, fuck,” Hunk murmurs. Slowly, he extricates his fingers from Lance’s hole, the fingertips lingering to circle the softened rim. “That’s it, hold yourself open for me.”

Lance moans, just at the words, the image they evoke. Fuck, what he must look like, so desperate to be filled… He can feel his own dick achingly hard and leaking beneath him. There’s probably a puddle of precome on the floor from how turned on he is. The visual makes him whine, wanting to rub his thighs together or _something_ just to get some friction, but he’s determined to keep himself held open for Hunk.

Behind him, he can hear Hunk chuckle at his predicament as he pops the clasp of his uniform slacks, followed by the low sound of the zipper. Hunk audibly sighs, probably from the relief of pressure against his thick cock. He shuffles forward, and Lance feels the brush of the fabric of Hunk’s crumpled trousers on the inside of his ankles just before something thick smacks right over his hole.

“Ah!” he gasps, startled, followed by a sharp whimper when he realizes what it was. While Lance holds himself half-open with one clenched hand, Hunk is slapping the blunt, heavy head of his cock against Lance’s gaping hole. “Oh my god, Hunk...”

A large hand lands on his other cheek, rolling it in the palm. “Gonna fuck you right here,” Hunk murmurs, lightly tapping Lance’s hole, sending fire blazing up into his lungs. “Right here, in this empty classroom. God. Wish you could see yourself, Lance, you look like you want it so bad.”

“I do,” Lance whines, and his words turn into a keening moan as Hunk dips just the very tip in and pulls away again. Lance gasps for breath, whining when Hunk goes back to that teasing tap-tap. He can hear the spurt of the lube bottle as Hunk must drizzle it over his cock, the cool slickness of it on his hole. “Hunk, _please_ —”

“Please, huh? Not something I hear from you all that often.” Lance can hear the smirk in Hunk’s voice; it sends heated shivers down his spine. “Almost never, in fact, until today. ‘Please, Hunk, please fuck me in this empty classroom.’ Sound familiar?”

Lance squirms, nodding. “Y-yes,” he gasps.

“Must want it pretty bad.”

“ _Yes_ ,” he gasps again, harder. He cranes his neck, trying to get a look at Hunk, but he has no leverage with his face pressed to the desk and one arm reached back. “You want me to beg?”

“Oh, Lance,” Hunk murmurs fondly, almost indulgently, as he catches Lance’s rim firmly with the blunt head of his cock and begins to press in. “What exactly do you think you’ve been doing?”

Lance ignites. It’s everything—the words, the setting, and, most of all, the way that Hunk’s dick makes him feel like he’s going to come apart at the seams.

“Oh my _gggg_ —” Lance’s eyes clench shut, his teeth gritting so hard his ears are ringing. He scrabbles for purchase on the desk, his hands hooking around the edges to brace himself as he belatedly remembers to try to keep himself relaxed. 

Behind him, he can hear Hunk breathing hard, every exhale carrying a low moan that vibrates in the air. “That’s it,” Hunk says, hands kneading Lance’s ass gently as he continues to press slowly inside him. “God, you look so good. Taking me so well, Lance. You were right, you _can_ do it, oh my _god,_ can you do it...”

The litany of praise swirls around Lance’s head like a cloud, fuzzy and warm, and he lets it. Loses himself in the sound of Hunk’s words, the stretch of his cock, and the delirious thought that he’s losing his virginity in an empty classroom to his hot best friend who he might, maybe, _definitely does_ want to go on a date or something with.

Holy shit, is he falling in love with Hunk?

“Fuck, Lance, feel so good,” Hunk hisses behind him, fingers digging into his ass as he begins to rock back and forth, and _maybe now is not the time for romantic realizations, Lance_ , not when he can _feel_ how his hole hugs Hunk’s shaft, the slick stimulation against his rim pooling tingling heat in his own cock.

“Oh my god,” he moans mindlessly, still just gripping the desk for dear life, still just _taking it_ and it’s fucking _amazing_ to do that, how did he never realize that taking it is the fucking best? “Oh my god, Hunk. Don’t, _hahh_ , don’t stop.”

“Furthest thing— from my mind,” Hunk pants in answer, and Lance can hear him smiling. 

Hunk’s movements are small at first, slow as they both get used to the sensation. He pulls out and slides back in a little further and Lance feels it in his _bones_. It’s like when they were in their G-force training and he felt melted into his flight seat, pinned down and immobile by the force exerted on him, but here that inescapable force exerted by Hunk—by his hands and cock and rough, heavy breaths as he presses even further into Lance.

Then Lance feels a familiar jolt, one that punches a throaty, open-mouthed moan straight from his chest. It rings in the classroom, as he flings one arm back, scrabbling for Hunk’s hip, trying to hold him there.

“Ho, _fffuck_ ,” he gasps.

Hunk curses under his breath. “Is that it?” he whispers eagerly. “Am I hitting it?”

Lance’s head lolls in a limp, helpless nod. “Yeah, yeah, right there, oh my _god_ …”

With a triumphant rumble in his chest, Hunk begins to thrust harder, with more purpose. Now that he has a concrete goal in sight, he characteristically begins to pursue it with single-minded purpose, the way Lance has seen him do countless times before. Only this time, instead of some working on some new gadget or aircraft enhancement, it’s nailing Lance’s prostate like it’s his fucking job.

Lance can feel his dick bobbing beneath the desk with every thrust of Hunk’s hips, and god he’d love to get a fist around it, but he’s still clinging to the desk with one hand, and Hunk caught his other wrist when he reached back blindly, is now using his arm to pull Lance back rhythmically onto his cock. 

Then Hunk shifts, grunting a little as he grasps the back of Lance’s thigh and shoves it up, his knee landing on the desk so that his legs are spread nearly as far as they can go. (Although Lance is a proudly flexible dude, beat the school’s record in the sit-and-reach in the Presidential Fitness Test, so he _could_ go farther.)

“This oughta be better,” Hunk mutters, and then fucks in again, and Lance’s eyes roll into the back of his head because—

“ _God_ , fuck, _yes_ , Hunk,” he chants, his forehead falling to the desk with a soft thud. “Oh my _fuck_ , yes—”

“Yeah?” Hunk asks greedily. “I thought— this angle…”

With his final remaining shred of coherence, Lance huffs a laugh. “The perks of— fucking an engineer,” he pants in the lulls between thrusts, and then he’s simply moaning again and allowing his cheek to smush against the cool laminate desk.

It’s not just the angle. It’s the fact that when Hunk hoisted up his leg, Lance’s dick came with it and is now pinned between his stomach and the sweat-drenched desk, drooling precome over the surface and then sliding into the slick pool made there. It has the electricity in his veins sparking higher and higher, faster and faster, and he can’t stave it off, can’t stop the building sparks, can’t help the way his body begins to shake as Hunk’s thrusts come harder and faster, too.

“Fuck, Hunk,” he gasps. “Fuck, I’m gonna come. Oh my god, I’m gonna—”

With a shudder, he does. All over the desk and his stomach, a trembling cry tearing through his ribcage. And Hunk fucks him through it, fucks him with an answering growl wrung through his own gritted teeth that Lance hears even through the roar of blood in his own. Fucks him until Lance is boneless, a moaning ragdoll in Hunk’s hands. 

“Gave you what you wanted, huh, Lance?” Hunk is muttering gruffly, as his hips kick forward inexorably. “Made you come on my cock.”

“ _Nngh_ ,” Lance moans, still delirious, still coming down.

“What do you say?”

“ _Hnng_ …”

Hunk’s hand cracks down against his ass-cheek, forcing another sated moan from Lance’s throat. _“What do you say?”_ he asks again, his voice hard.

And Lance’s mind is reeling, and it takes him a minute, but when he realizes what Hunk is asking he wishes he could come again, because _this_ might be the hottest thing he’s ever experienced, ever _imagined_. Forget his four-pussy dreams, _this_ is what he’s going to be jerking off to for years.

“Th-thank you,” he gasps, his mouth dry. He swallows, licks his lips, and tries again. “Thank you, Hunk. Thank you for giving me, _hahh_ , your cock.”

Somehow, that seems to drive Hunk crazy. His motions begin to stutter arrhythmically, canting into Lance’s overstimulated body. “That’s it,” he pants. “Gave you my cock, Lance. Now I’m gonna— give you my— my— _ahh_ —”

Hunk gives one last strong, stuttering thrust and comes deep inside Lance. He must shove even farther in, because Lance swears he gets a little aftershock, like a quarter-orgasm, just from the stretch and the stimulation and the hotness of Hunk coming inside him, filling him up, giving him his come.

When Hunk pulls away, he releases Lance’s wrist suddenly, as though he only just realized he’d been gripping it. He shuffles backwards, slipping out slowly, and Lance clumsily gathers his wobbly forearms beneath him to push himself dizzily up from the desk.

“Ho-o-oly shit,” he giggles breathlessly, blinking back the stars behind his eyelids. “I think I came so hard you gave me vertigo, dude.”

Behind him, Hunk chuckles lightly. Lance can hear the rustle of fabric that means Hunk is pulling his slacks back up. With a wince, Lance shifts his hips and turns to face him with a weary grin.

Hunk is flushed, his hair messy with sweat. It’s a great look, honestly; Lance is sad he missed the view.

“How was it?” Lance asks eagerly, almost swinging his bare legs. “Did it feel awesome?”

Hunk huffs a laugh, his eyes flicking to Lance’s and away again as the color in his cheeks spreads. “Sh-shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

Lance tilts his head inquisitively. “Me? I thought I made it clear with my vertigo comment. You blew my mind, Hunky. What about you? Does my ass feel as good as it looks?”

“I mean, yeah, it was amazing,” Hunk replies, still clearly off-balance. He doesn’t even give a fond eye-roll in response to Lance’s comment. “Like, I feel like I almost blacked out, saying those things. I became a whole other person—”

“A whole other _extremely hot_ person!” Lance interjects, raising a finger in objection. Hunk lifts an eyebrow at him, but still steps forward when Lance gestures him over. He rests his forearms on Hunk’s shoulders, smiling blearily into his deep brown eyes. “Hunk,” he says seriously.

Hunk winces back at him, mouth screwed up. “Yeah?” he asks hesitantly.

“Do you wanna go out with me? Like, as boyfriends or whatever?”

Hunk’s eyes go wide, searching Lance’s. “A-are you kidding?”

“Nope.”

“You wanna go out with _me_?”

“Yep.”

“But what about K—”

Lance kisses him to shut him up. When he pulls away, Hunk’s eyes are glassy and heavy-lidded. Lance smirks at him. “He’s my rival, nothing more,” he says. “Besides, I seem to recall someone pointing out he’s not even that nice to me.” 

To his immense satisfaction, Hunk’s blush intensifies.

“I just never knew that being with the person who I wanna spend all my time with anyway was an option,” Lance goes on, “and now that I do, you gotta know I’m not letting you or that world-class hog out of my sight.”

“Lance…” Hunk chuckles, rolling his eyes, and Lance knows he has him. 

“That’s _Boyfriend_ Lance to you.” He grins, giving him one more peck on the lips before jumping off the frankly disgusting desk. “All right, now that that’s done, help me get dressed. Then let’s get this cleaned up, and _then_ we’re gonna have to have a long talk. I have approximately one bajillion ideas for _actual_ couple’s costumes for next Halloween!”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to [alec](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queermccoy/pseuds/queermccoy) for the beta read!
> 
> i’m [@tempestbreak_](https://twitter.com/tempestbreak_) on twitter.


End file.
